


Force Majeure

by PlexFlexico



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Prospect (2018), The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Consensual Brainwashing, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fivesome - F/M/M/M/M, Hand Jobs, Injury, Kissing, Medical Procedures, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlexFlexico/pseuds/PlexFlexico
Summary: force ma·jeure/ˌfôrs mäˈZHər/Definition: An irresistible compulsion or greater force.All of the thanks and so much appreciation goes to my talented and kind Beta Reader @lackofhonor on tumblr. Without her this would not have been nearly as good! xoxo
Relationships: Agent Whiskey / Reader, Din Djarin / reader, Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader, Paz Vizla/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

“Get my medkit.” You gasp. “Hurry.”

“What the fuck did he do to you?’’ Your teammate is running a hand over his face, covering his mouth as he stares. He’s in shock and not really believing what he’s seeing. 

“Get. My. Medkit. I can’t move. I don’t know how deep these are and I need my medkit. MOVE MEDIC.” The adrenaline coursing through has you feeling as though everything is slow motion, but you need him to get his ass in gear and fast. You’re no longer modded and if you don’t get this done you’re going to be a wreck before you even get started.

Din jolts once and pulls himself together, searching the scattered equipment on the floor until he finds your medkit and scrambles over to you, holding it out. His mods aren’t up, either. He’s just that shaken.

You pull out gauze, wound pads and a bottle of alcohol. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker. You spin the top off the bottle and soak a thick wound pad in the sharp-smelling liquid and begin wiping at the blood that coats your torso and thighs, hissing and cursing. 

“Sweet-mother-of-fucking-mercy-esti-de-câlice-de-tabarnak-fucking-son-of-a-motherfuck!” comes out through clenched teeth while you assess the damage through the fire suddenly consuming you as the alcohol seeps into your wounds. None look too deep so far. He didn’t want to kill you, just make you hurt.

As you adjust to the sting you drop your head. “He kept cutting on me. Every time I fought back he’d start cutting. I — I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to see this.”

A noise comes out of him that sounds like you physically wounded him. “You — You’re apologizing. T-to me? To us? If we hadn’t agreed that you should scout ahead and get the door open you wouldn’t have been in here alone. You wouldn’t — We didn’t come sooner. We couldn’t find a way in.” He keeps reaching out, his hands shaking, and then pulling them back like he’s afraid you’re going to break if he touches you. 

He’s never seen this much of your flesh before, you’re entirely bare but for some tatters of clothes, with your pants, shirt and bra cut away into bloody ribbons. If it weren’t for all this blood. He’s in deep shock, white, his eyes wide and he’s not tracking anything going on right now. 

You’re covered in dozens upon dozens of cuts from your shoulders, down your arms, your breasts, stomach, and thighs. Your underwear is torn where that freak cut through and sliced lightly into your pubis, not deep, but there’s a few slowly scabbing welts there, just visible through the torn and bloody material. 

Din blows out a breath and jumps as if he’s been hit with a live wire. He races to grab all the med kit gear he can find and with as much speed as possible he’s assessing you and trying to tape or field dress as many of the deepest wounds as he can. He’s cursing under his breath in a whisper, the sound of your pounding heart making it hard to hear him. 

As he works the pain creeps in again. Every movement pulls something, seems to tear something a little more. Oh, Sweet Christ, he fucked you up pretty bad. The adrenaline is starting to fade and you’re beginning to be more aware of your predicament, you blush and try to draw in on yourself, but it hurts too much to move. Just one tear slides down your face as you’re wracked by a silent sob. You feel all wrong. 

“You need to get to a hospital. Do you have anything in your pack you can wear out of here?” 

“My spares, pants and a shirt.” You’re starting to feel a bit light-headed. Blood loss, shock, embarrassment, shame, and a sick feeling of impotent and unspent rage are vying for your attention. 

He digs through your pack and pulls out your clothes. He swivels back to you and catches a look at the side of your face. There’s a wicked cut along your cheekbone. His hand reaches out and cups your face along your jaw gently as he turns the cut towards the light, sucking in air between his teeth. The slight pull on the skin opens it up again and a fresh rivulet of blood courses down your cheek, flowing over his fingers. 

You feel the warmth slide down your face and watch as his eyes grow incredibly dark, his hand trembling, his whole body trembling. He withdraws his hand slowly and gets up, helping you stand slowly, putting an arm around you to steady you.

The radio crackled to life. 

“We got the fucker. We fucking got the fucker. I’m headed back your way. She okay?” Paz’s voice is strained and he’s out of breath. 

“We need to get her to a hospital. Where is he now?” He appears about ten seconds away from screaming, but his voice is still calm. 

“Fuck. I’m on my way to you. Just stay there. We’ll get her out. The rest of the crew and Green Team are taking him back to the main building.” Paz’s breathing is even heavier now, he’s running full tilt and you can hear his thunderously heavy footfalls through the static.

“Hurry.” He’s sounding a lot less calm. Fuck.

“Help me get dressed. Quickly, please,” you whisper. He helps you draw up your pants and slide the shirt over your head. It hurts to move, each motion pulling at your abused and torn flesh, causing fresh flows of crimson across your skin. 

Your clothing is quickly spotted with blood, but there are only a handful of cuts still bleeding heavily and he quickly tapes more gauze over them. He wraps you in his jacket, trying to keep you warm. “Paz is on his way back. He’ll carry you and I’ll take his gear and yours. You can’t walk out of here all cut up like that.” His voice is breaking a bit with tension and worry. 

You sway a bit on your feet, feeling sick and trying to fight off the urge to tremble. Every muscle is tense with the effort to just stay still and not fall apart. You try concentrating on the pain, something to center you in the here and now but the thought of what your team must have seen when they entered the room keeps invading your thoughts. 

***

**_You’re laying there in the middle of a pile of your scattered gear, clothes cut to shreds around you, skin a mess of slick red and almost black wounds, blood everywhere you had lain when he had caught you each time you tried to get away and he started cutting again. Your eyes, wide and wild with terror. Your jaw shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming silently from your eyes as you stayed quiet so he wouldn’t snap and peel the skin off you as he had threatened to do. Crouched over you was someone unknown, unaccounted for, his hand on your throat as he slowly ran the tip of his knife down your belly, opening a fresh red seam, getting ready to take what you had fought so hard to prevent. The sudden intrusion of your four teammates caused him to scramble to his feet and barrel through them before anyone had a chance to react._ **

**_Jack took off first like a bullet from a gun, followed immediately by Ezra. Paz looked at Din for confirmation. “Go! I’ve got her,” shouted Din. Paz turned and was gone, his heavy boots echoing down the hallway of the empty building._ **

***

You’re losing your battle over the shaking and Din is leading you down to the floor, sitting you on his lap and finally putting his arms around you, getting over his shyness and reluctance to hurt you further to satisfy his need to comfort you, to hold you and ease your fear, your shame. He cradles you tenderly, quietly speaking into the radio, trying to get a location for Paz. He’s worried about the pale cast to your face and the way your breathing keeps hitching. Your eyes are entirely dry, but you’re letting out strange, choked sobs now and then. Quietly, almost whispery.

Not long after you hear Paz coming up the stairs and down the hall. He rushes into the room and begins discarding his pack and his body armor. As soon as it’s off he’s scooping you up and cradling you close to his chest. At 6’ 5” and built like a tank with broad shoulders and thick muscles under a pleasant layer of flesh your Team Commander makes you feel small and very surrounded by his strength. He’s incredibly gentle, settling you slowly and whispering to you quietly, his blue eyes shiny and his forehead creased as he regards you with worry.

“You have to tell me if it hurts too much. I’m so sorry that it’s going to be a bit of a bumpy ride in spots, but tell me and I’ll stop. You’ll be okay, yeah? You’re going to be fine.” He has such a deep voice you can feel it rumble. All you can do is nod and just bury your face in his chest, trying to block out the world.

Din packs up all the gear as fast as he can and you all start off, back to the staging area about 8 miles out. You drift in and out, not sleeping as much as just going under to a place where the world seems far away. You’re still shaking, as much from the residual fear as from the shame of being seen like that by your teammates. Weak and torn, haunted and hunted. Violated. Caught.

***

**_They had taken you on a little over four years ago, needing someone smaller in stature and technically inclined to fill out their combined skill set. You were without a team, raring to get in on the action, and impressed by their record and their presence. They radiated a kind of rough-and-tumble boyishness that was inclusive of you, that made you understand they saw you as an equal — though above all you were friend and comrades. Your team is the go-to for locating, extraction and demolition, all skilled hunters and relentless in a firefight, your mutual trust and respect combined with endless training and drilling as a unit made you a force to be reckoned with._ **

**_You’d been warned that joining a merc team would harm your career, but you were civilian and not military, so you were excluded from being eligible for the mods that you knew would only be an asset. If you joined a merc team you’d have access and a better shot at bigger jobs._ **

**_You met Paz first. You were at training and his team was in for the day, having just cleared a job and needing somewhere to drill. You were sparring with your class, winning more than losing, and loving every minute of it. The physical exertion of training was like a drug for you, and the rush of using your body and mind together to bring down an opponent was the best feeling._ **

**_You see this big brute of a man watching you from the corner of the room. Immensely tall, broad, well muscled and proportioned. He’s a medieval clergyman’s description of a raiding viking, minus the braids. Bright blue eyes, blonde hair closely cropped on his head, with a close-cut beard that was well cared for._ **

**_He looks absolutely delicious._ **

**_Your latest opponent is down on the mat, pinned under you, when he walks over. “Care to try that on someone not your own size?” His deep voice growls at you, an amused smile crinkling the corners of his eyes._ **

**_“Bring it on, Big Daddy,” you pant, saucily. His eyes widen for a moment, then he pulls you up off the floor._ **

**_“Ready?” he asks._ **

**_“Let’s go big guy.” You know you’re probably about to get your ass handed to you, but this is a challenge you can’t pass up._ **

**_He’s good. You’re faster, but he’s no slouch. He’s not exactly going easy on you, but he’s not interested in ending this quickly. You get the feeling he’s testing you, and you’re game to show him a thing or two. You see a golden opportunity, when his stance is just wide enough. You slip down between his legs, twisting as you come up so you’re facing his back. Since he was there to drill he’s in full gear, a large utility belt strapped at his waist. Your foot comes up and you hook it into the top of the belt, your hand flying up to grab the neckhole of his body armor. You bring your other leg up and twist yourself around, throwing your weight into his chest and neck, unbalancing him and bringing him down hard, a stroke of luck that earns you a laugh and a tap out on your thigh._ **

**_“Tighten up your stance, merc,” you say as you give his jaw a squeeze with your thighs. You get up off him, offering a hand. He takes it and grins a wicked grin as he tries to throw you behind him. You spring into it, tucking and rolling, coming up and bouncing on your toes, laughing and loving every minute of this._ **

**_You both walk off, introducing yourselves. You’re shortly joined by three other men, clones from the look of it. They’re all around six feet, solidly built without being huge, warm skin, and dark eyes and hair. Despite their similar features and builds, they were still three very different men in attitude and manner. Din was reserved and far more thoughtful than the others. Ezra was loquacious and bold, quick witted and sharp eyed. Jack was the kind of man who relished getting the job done, but with flair, enjoying showing off a bit when he could. You guessed they were in their mid-thirties, and learned later they were 34. Paz, the big viking brute, was 42. Battle hardened and ex-military he was a natural born leader and not a man to use the advantage of modding or conditioning to force people to bend to his will. Instead he preferred working with the team for compromise in the spirit of trust and togetherness to get the results needed , maintaining free will as much as possible._ **

**_They told you what they were looking for and you agreed then and there to join them for compatibility and skills testing. They seemed surprised that you didn’t even want to think it over._ **

**_“I don’t imagine I’m ever going to be happy with a life of menial work and waiting for someone to come along and try to get me to have his babies,” you intone seriously. “I’ve wanted to join up for years, but Mil won’t take me as long as there’s a fucking baby shortage. I’m 26. They’re not letting me in for at least another 14 years, if not more. I’ve contracted as much as I can, but it’s not what I want. I want to be on a team.”_ **

**_The testing was intensive, but you came through it well. You got your mods and they spent a few weeks helping you get used to them and teaching you how to work with them so you would stay whole and safe._ **

**_The next couple of years were the best you’d had. You got more than enough work, the money was good and boredom was a thing of the past. Paz had put you on the list for Team Conditioning after a year, the mandatory waiting period, and none of you really thought anything more of it until the notice came that you’d been accepted. They had been conditioned together already, and you were anxious to have that level of communication and trust with the team, though many people reacted with horror over being brainwashed, even willingly and in a minor way, even with a full understanding of the effects._ **

**_You all took to your combined conditioning well, and despite your merc status you were a crew that was in demand and well respected for your ethics, adaptability, and ability to get the tough jobs done. You knew there was something about the way your team was conditioned that was different from most of the other teams you ran into, but it was hard to put a finger on. Few women were doing this kind of work in a time of catastrophically reduced, and still falling, birth rates. There were huge incentives for women to have as many children as they could and shun anything overly dangerous, so maybe that was it? Maybe the mixed gender thing made the conditioning come out a bit different? A bit more cohesive? A bit more devoted?_ **

***

This isn’t the first time one of you has been hurt or taken, not even the first time you’ve been hurt, but the way you’ve been hurt seems to have everyone on edge. You can hear Jack and Ezra over the radio at intervals, telling Din that they’ve got their unexpected quarry back to the staging area. Command has called everyone back. They’ve got a guard rota set up and the two of them are leaving now to meet us and bring us in. 

The sky is darkening and the wind is picking up. This doesn’t bode well for getting off the island and back to a civilian hospital. Paz is cradling you gently as he walks, every now and then dropping his forehead to your hair and quietly trying to comfort you. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll get some help and you’re going to be fine.” He looks down at you, and sees that one of the cuts on your stomach is starting to bleed a bit heavier, the fabric over it dripping and wet, a dark and pulsing rose in bloom just under your ribs, growing larger as he watched.

“We need to stop,” he calls out to Din, his voice anxious. Paz gently leans against a tree and slides down, keeping you in his arms. You’re shaking harder than ever, you can feel screams skittering just under the surface as the pain starts to wear at your resolve. “I got you,” he whispers. “Not letting you go, baby girl. You’re safe. We’re gonna keep you safe.” 

Din strides over with a medkit, dropping to his knees between Paz’s legs, as close to you as possible. “I have to lift your shirt, okay? I need to see what’s leaking again, sweetheart.” His voice is unsteady as he rifles the med kit for the supplies he needs. 

You nod and hide your face in Paz’s chest as Din gently lifts your shirt, revealing the devastation on your torso. Paz hadn’t gotten a good look before, and he sucked in a breath, swearing, “Fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, god, what did that fucker do?” He buries his face in your hair and you can feel his harsh breathing as his lips press a kiss there. 

“I have to glue this one. If I don’t seal it it’s going to keep bleeding like this.” He’s gathered himself and is working with steady, quiet hands. “Gotta irrigate this so the glue will stick. It’s going to burn a lot. Paz, you have to hold her steady so she doesn’t tear this any more.” 

Din gently holds a thick wound pad against your ribs under the steadily leaking cut which pulses thicker with each racing heartbeat. He pulls down on the flesh slightly and grabs the bottle of alcohol. He took a deep breath and started pouring. You jumped a little, but Paz held you fast and stopped you from squirming, kissing your hair and telling you it won’t take long. Din will go as fast as he can. You can hear Din telling you you’re doing good, only a second more.

“Okay, sweetheart, done with the alcohol. You did good. We’re almost there. Gonna seal this up now, so just a little more pain and it’ll be over. Okay? Stay with us.” 

There’s the sound of bodies moving towards you through the trees. Jack and Ezra come crashing down the path towards you. Ezra throws himself down beside Paz, facing you, swearing and cursing at the sight of your injuries, his large hand on your lower leg, gently squeezing. Jack dropped down on the other side of Paz, holding your shirt out of the way of Din’ work and holding his flashlight between his cheek and shoulder to give Din a better view. 

They’re all breathing heavily from exertion and the stress of the day, not yet over, and they’re all touching you as if they’re afraid you’re going to fly away or disappear if they don’t anchor you to the earth, to them. 

Jack’s hand is on the back of your neck, Paz’s lips in your hair, Ezra has laid his head on your shins, running his hand up and down your lower leg, muttering curses to himself, and Din has one hand splayed out along your ribs, the other holding the small tube of ethyl cyanoacrylate he’s just opened. 

“Guys, this is gonna hurt her. Hold her, just keep her steady,” he says to the others. To you, “Ready?”

You nod, still hiding in the safety of Paz’s warmth and heartbeat. You brace yourself, trying to hold still and — OH, FUCK, IT’S FIRE AND TEETH AND OH, OH, FUCK. You whimper, the first sound to leave you aside from those strange, dry, quiet sobs and immediately you’re surrounded by arms and lips and hands, gentling you the way they would a small child or a scared animal. Whispers reach you but you can’t make anything out — just that they’re there, your boys, and they’ve got you and they’re going to bring you in. 

Mercifully, the world retreats for a while and there’s nothing but the occasional moment of almost breaking the surface, feeling surrounded by the immense heat of Paz and feeling the presence of the others as they work to get you back to base as fast as possible — then you slip under again. 

You come to in the barracks room assigned to your team, lightning flashing outside and the sky dark. _They must have had to start breaking down the med unit tent because of the storm_ , you think. It’s dim in the room, just a small lamp. _Power’s out_. You stir, trying to ease the ache but the motion pulls on your skin, sending fresh waves of discomfort through you. 

You can see Paz and Jack sitting on Jack’s bunk and Din and Ezra on Ezra’s. They’re speaking quietly and you can only make out a few words here and there. 

“…can’t let some stranger… did you see her face? No.” 

“…ours, and that’s that. You all know it. We all agreed to it when…”

“…wake her. Not like this. Oh, fuck…”

“…prepare you, it’s bad…”

“…have to tell her. Can’t keep hiding it, not after…”

Jack looks up and sees your eyes open. “Hey — Hi there,” he says and instantly they’re up and crowding around you. 

Paz kneels down next to you, smoothing the hair off your forehead with one massive and incredibly gentle hand. “They’re breaking down the med tent. There’s two nurses on the way with what they need to help you.” His voice is shaky and he keeps glancing up at the others, nervously. “Do you — Do you want us to go when they get here? We understand and we can get another barrack—”

You shake your head, looking at them with panic. You squeeze your eyes shut. They can’t go. Oh, fuck, no. You can’t be alone again. Not without them. Not right now. 

Paz sighs and presses his lips to your forehead. “We’re not going anywhere if you don’t want us to,” he said against your skin. Jack and Ezra, on either side of you, sink down and grab your hands. Ezra leaned his face down to your palm and you could feel his jaw trembling. Jack just sat there, tracing the shape of your hand with his, eyes closed and head down. 

Din comes around opposite Paz. “Hey, we have to get your clothes off. I’m sorry. We thought you might — they’re stuck, and we can’t pull them or we’ll open —” He swallows and looks at Paz, who gives him a nod of encouragement. “We have to cut them off. We’re going to be gentle, and we’ll be careful. Do you trust us to do that, sweetheart?” 

You nod, looking at each of them in turn. So far only Din has seen the full extent of what lies under your clothes and you’re scared of what they’re going to think, but you couldn’t stand a stranger, even a nurse, doing something like … Oh, god why did this happen? It hurts so much. You close your eyes again.

Din starts with your top, cutting from the neck down, using saline to wet the fabric so he can pull it away without hurting you too much, and you can feel the tears start to gather. You feel safe, but so damaged. Something feels wrong. Maybe not wrong. Something is not — Something is different.

Paz keeps stroking your hair and you can hear Ezra gasp as Din gently cuts down the sleeves and then lifts the front of the shirt away slowly. You keep your steadily leaking eyes closed as Din leans forward to plant a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Almost there, sweetheart. We got you.” 

Paz lifts you slightly so Din can pull the remainder of your shirt out from under you. He then moves down and starts to cut up the leg of your pants on one side, and then the other, gently peeling everything away from you. You’re entirely exposed but you don’t feel anything but safe and loved as the men around you gently wash you clean of dried blood as best they can, drying you gently. 

The three next to you lift you up and Din gently slides the damp, blood stained sheet from under you replacing it with a clean and dry one, then swiftly and with incredible care covers you with another. 

The cheek that Ezra has pressed into your palm is wet, and you curl your fingers, stroking the side of his face. He presses a hot kiss into your palm, then another. 

Jack’s lips are ghosting over your knuckles, his long, warm fingers twined in yours. 

Din has settled at the head of the bed again, his head laying on the pillow beside yours, his nose pressed to your skin, planting soft pecks along your cheekbone now and then. 

Paz is kissing your temple, your ear, pausing to whisper, “We got you, baby girl. We’re not letting you go. You’re gonna be alright.” 

They can’t stop kissing you, stroking any part of you that won’t cause you pain. It’s like they’re trying to love you whole again and you can feel something inside you fill, or maybe just open, spreading over the feeling of being small and powerless that was eating at you. They’re here and they’re not leaving. You’re safe. 

The nurses arrive then, and everyone snaps into action. Jack stays right where he is, as they didn’t want to leave you without an anchor. The rest busy themselves with the nurses’ instructions, their desire to bend to the voice of authority only failing when they’re asked to leave the room. Each of them defy the order with perfect calmness, despite the psychological and physical discomfort it causes them. The nurses didn’t ask a second time. They knew merc teams were often inseparable, and they had better things to do than start a fight.

They set up an IV and start a drip, the sting of the needle making you gasp out, “Câlice!”

“We’re going to give her something to make her sleep so we can work.” one of the nurses says, and you can feel the pressure of something being injected into your IV. The last thing you see are the faces of your boys clustered at the foot of your bed, and then nothingness claimed you. 

When you wake again it’s still dark, or maybe dark again, and the wind and rain are loudly beating themselves against the building. The storm shutters on the outside of the glass had been closed and locked and the lamp was turned down low. The first thing you notice is that you feel like you’re floating, your tongue thick and head fuzzy. They must have given you something for the pain. The sudden absence of it and the relief of it all has your eyes wet again, and then you notice something else. While you were sleeping the boys had pushed the beds together, anchoring them somehow, so that you were all in one big bed. You can hear them surrounding you, breathing steadily in their sleep, each with a hand on you, not letting go even now. You feel Paz’s large hand tangled in your hair from where he’s curled around the pillows under your head. Din is on your right, Jack on your left, and Ezra at your feet. 

You’re still naked, nestled under a clean white sheet and blankets. You can see gauze taped on your arms and feel tape holding more here and there. Even though there’s no real pain, you can feel the pull of staples and butterfly clips, the sensation strongest where he had cut you over and over in the same place, opening flowers in your flesh. 

Paz feels you stir and leans down, his close-cropped hair brushing your cheek. “Hey, baby girl,” he rumbles in your ear. “They fixed you right up. In a couple of days you’ll be up again. Just gotta wait for you to heal a bit. We’re gonna take care of you, yeah?” His lips press softly to your temple, and he strokes your hair so gently you can barely feel it. 

“I want to see,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. 

“No, baby girl. Not yet. When you can stand we’ll let you see in the mirror. Not now. Just rest.” I can hear him choking back something, worry or fear, it’s hard to tell. 

Your whispering has roused the others, and they’re all sliding up to get closer to you, each taking their turn to kiss you, gently and almost chastely. You want to ask for more when they’re done, you want them to kiss you again and again, and you’re shocked by your own desire. 

You can see them watching you, watching your face and your expression. They know something. They feel it, too. 

Jack speaks first. “You feel it, don’t you? We’ve been trying to find a way to tell you for a while. When we went through the conditioning something went — not wrong, but different. It went too deep.” He picked up your hand and held it in both of his, “You couldn’t tell because you hadn’t been conditioned before. We all felt it. We’d talk about it, but we didn’t want to — it didn’t seem fair to put that on you. We could steer you from realizing as best as possible, but what happened out there — that kind of a situation — it can make things hard to ignore.” He looked over at Din.

“None of this would ever affect our mods for field work. The basics of conditioning makes it easier for us to communicate in the field and off. That’s all it does, really, and we can control the deep side of it to an extent using the mods. It’s when we’re off mod or feeling strong emotions that it’s this — obvious.” Din sighs and bends down, kissing you on the forehead. “We knew another team this happened to. You can’t break it. They tried and ended up shells of themselves. They stayed modded so long to avoid it they — were damaged. The only solution is to remove it entirely — but that means —” 

“I don’t want to. Not unless I have to.” Your voice is small and you can feel tears prickling at your eyes. 

Paz leans over you, kissing the tip of your nose. “You didn’t choose this, baby girl. We don’t want you forced into anything. I think that’s why — I think that’s why this got to us so hard. We’ve been talking about it a lot with each other in the last year, since the conditioning was complete and we got the new mods. We couldn’t stand the thought of you being forced or coerced into —” He stops, his voice breaking. 

Ezra and Din switch places, and Ezra cradles the uninjured side of your face in one rough, calloused palm. You lean into it, enjoying the sensation of his thumb gently running along your cheekbone. “I think maybe it’s not so bad for all of us ‘cause we were all half in love with you before any of this started, you know?” You nod your head, understanding what he meant exactly. Until now you hadn’t been able to nail down what it was that changed, but you had three years with them before you had completed conditioning together and your feelings for each of them by that point were certainly tender. They were your friends. Your comrades. Your boys. Once the conditioning was complete you’d realized you felt much more, but for some reason you weren’t ready to admit it, or maybe you just couldn’t see the forest for the trees. 

“I didn’t understand — I don’t know why. Maybe the mods — I don’t know. I — Please don’t make me stop feeling this. Please — I — I can’t — Please don’t make me leave.” You’re on the verge of tears, pleading quietly, needing them to understand that you need them as much as they seem to now need you. 

Paz leans down again, his voice cracking, “No, baby girl, don’t beg. Fuck, you never have to beg. We don’t want to let you go either, but we had to know that you understood. That you want this.” 

You nod, your breathing growing a bit ragged as the pain starts to creep in again. It’s fierce, all metal teeth and a whining screech along your nerves. Din notices your shift in mood and checks the time. “You need another shot, sweetheart. We can talk more later. Sleep. Rest. We’re all going to be here when you wake up.” The needle slides into your arm and the world drifts away again. 

***

For the next five days the boys keep you in bed, taking care of your most intimate needs as the storm crests and the outside world remains a wet, howling thing. There’s no shame or humiliation in any of it, just tenderness and love. They make you comfortable, keep the pain away, and do their best to shelter you from any intrusions. They’ve been instructed to try to keep you still as much as possible these first few days so you don’t tear any stitches. They wash you, and wash your hair in a basin. They walk you slowly to the bathroom, wrapping you gently in a sheet, carrying you back to the bed if you falter. 

The days and nights bleed together for you. Everything hurts and it’s difficult to move. Every turn or twitch is pulling on tender, raw skin trying to knit together. 

A group from Base Command had come to get your statement, and it was the first time you were without the rest of your team. They couldn’t stay, they’d be arrested if they tried. You relate the events dispassionately enough that they probably thought you had your mods active. The medication for the pain had been withheld by order since the early morning so you would be lucid, and it was now mid-afternoon. It was torture to feel the weight of the sheets and blankets on you. It kept you focused and kept you on track to just tell them what they need to know and get them out so you can silence the screams in your skin. They wouldn’t tell you who the perp was, or how he got on base. You suspect from the questions they’re asking that they don’t actually know, and were hoping you had some answers. You were told you and your team were confined to barracks for now, and would be processed off only after the rest of the teams on site for the exercise had been interviewed. They expected you to be there for another two weeks, at least. Your Union had been informed and would assist how they could.

On the sixth day after you were back at base Paz, Jack, and Ezra come to your bedside to tell you they’ve been summoned to Command, Din is staying and they’ll be back as soon as they can. When they leave Din lays down, running his fingers through your hair as he stretches out beside you. 

“I need to ask you some questions about what happened, and I guess you have some questions of your own. As your team medic you know I can’t share anything you don’t consent to me sharing. You can tell me anything and no one would ever know if you didn’t want them to.” he’s still stroking your hair, the crease between his eyebrows deep with concern.

“I’ll be asked for a report by Base Command and the Union when we’re processed out. You know I can’t lie to the fucking Union.”

“I know you can omit,” he chuckled. “We’ve all done it once or twice.” 

You sigh, “Ask away. I remember all of it until we were on the way back and I passed out. I was modded when it started and some of the way through. I couldn’t keep it up, though. Once the pain got bad enough it just quit on me. Survival instinct kicked in and I stopped fighting.” 

Din flinches slightly, remembering the charnel house that greeted them when they entered the room where you had been held. He paused a moment, modding, and then turned to you again. 

“Did he rape you? Violate you in any way?” He’s gazing at you steadily, his mods guiding his tone and demeanor. 

“No. That was his plan, I think, but it didn’t get that far. It might — if you hadn’t —” Your voice trails off. The thought of what might have been is enough to cause your breath to hitch for a moment, but you keep control. You think about modding, but you know that it’s best to try to deal with this unmodded for now. Modding to avoid strong feelings is discouraged, as the damage it can cause could be irreparable. If you’re in the grips of something deep and you layer the mod over it, it’s possible to have a breakdown that you can’t come back from. 

“Can you tell me what happened when you entered the building?”

“I dropped in. I had to take off my armor to fit through the window. I drew my weapon and cleared the room from my position. It was large. Maybe ten meters left to right and about fifteen or twenty from my position to the door. No obstructions and empty. One exit, no door in the frame. I reached back and Ezra passed my armor through. I put it back on and then reached back for my belt, then my pack.” You close your eyes, running through it all step by step. Even though you’re not modded, debriefing is such a part of life now that this is almost soothing in its familiarity. “I proceeded forward, into a hallway. Door to back wall was maybe 5 meters? No other exits were visible. Stairs ahead. I moved down the hall to the stairs, looking at the door at the top and the space I’d have on the landing. I started up. He must have been hiding in the drop ceiling. Fucker was quiet and goddamn fast. I heard his foot hit the steps behind me but his hand was already around my throat, throwing me back down to the floor. Knocked the wind out of me for a sec, so I couldn’t call out. He was on top of me in a blink, he grabbed my weapon and tossed it, electro-stunned me and I was done for.” You open your eyes, looking at Din. His expression is passive enough, but his eyes can’t hide what’s buried under the mods right now. 

“He dragged me up the stairs like I was a ragdoll. We hit the second floor landing and I caught up with myself enough that I started to fight. He stunned me again and cut my face. Said if I fought he’d cut. If I didn’t fight he’d hold off on cutting me. I guess he wasn’t lying.” You take a moment to center yourself, breathing deep and even, finding calm. “He dragged me up to the third floor, past two doors on the left and three on the right, into a large room, left side. It was cleaner than the rest of the building I’d seen. There was a bedroll in the southwest corner of the room, judging by the sunlight. A pack about three feet from the door, against the wall. Nothing else, just empty space. He started cutting me right away. Over and over — my clothes, skin — blood was getting everywhere.” You can feel panic rising, and you do your best to fight it down, to get it all out and told. “Threw me down. There was another hit with the stunner. Started on my clothes again. I kicked and he c-cut my — he cut my chest — he — He was so fast. I don’t know how he managed to be so fucking _fast_.” You’re shaking now and it’s pulling at your skin. You struggle to breathe slowly, to gain some control. 

Din cradles your face, turning you to look at him. He’s still modded, but you can see the concern in his eyes. “You can stop now. We can talk more later.” 

You’re silent for a few minutes, but you need to know. They’ve been very careful to keep you covered, and while they haven’t exactly prevented you from looking, they’ve discouraged you strongly enough that you’re willing to comply. Still, you need to know. 

“How bad is it? Really?”

Din clears his throat and blinks. He’s demodded now, and it’s a comfort that he’s delivering this news to you as your comrade. “Eighty-three that we could tell. Not all of them needed stitches. The stunner burns on your back are going to scar. He had it turned up high. You’ll heal, and you’re whole enough. There’s some places where he cut you more than once that’ll take longer.” He sighs, “It’s bad, sweetheart. We were all pretty scared. They gave you a couple bags of blood, and it took a few hours to get you stitched up with the three of us working.” 

He sets his head on the pillow, nose to nose with you. Something is suddenly hanging between you. His eyes grow softer, and he brushes his lips against yours once, then looks at you again. What he sees in your face makes him bold enough to kiss you again, and again — and again. Soon the two of you are exploring each other unhurriedly. Small, slow kisses, little touches, soft smiles. You’re lost in it when the others return, and you hear Paz say “Now that’s what we should always be coming home to,” his voice thick with emotion. 

You realize that with the conditioning as it is, the base portion of it means there’s no jealousy here. They arrived to see two people they love in bliss together and to them it was wonderful. The programming helped create a sense of permanence between team members, making it easier to be open with one another and far more patient than the average person. Here it has the advantage of no one feeling left out. There’s no end to the time you’ll have, so why rush? 

You and Din break yourselves away slowly, and you smile and kiss his nose. You’ve never seen him grin so wide and there’s a rush of endorphins from knowing that your moment together, and your Commander’s approval of it, had caused it. You turn and hold out your arms to Paz. He takes off his jacket and boots and comes over to the bed. He slides over to you and props himself up on one elbow, his other arm sliding around you gently. He kisses your forehead, your eyelids, your nose. He slides his lips along your jaw, kissing and nipping so gently, up to your ear. “Oh, you sweet thing. My baby girl.” 

It’s not about lust, it’s all just love, love, love. His lips and tongue coax you, slowly, to open for him and he tastes every bit of you. Breathes you in. Breathes his love and wanting back into you. He’s whispering against your lips between kisses, “You’re so sweet. So perfect.” His lips are everywhere, his hands in your hair, teeth nipping along your throat. He moves to claim your mouth again and your lips are open to him, wanting, wet. He dives in, making your head spin until a small whimper escapes you. He moans against your mouth, pulling back and looking into your eyes. You can’t hide, don’t want to hide, from his gaze. He looks over at Din, Ezra, and Jack, laying beside you in a pile, faces awash with blissful grins as they watch their captain with the object of his affections. Ezra speaks up, “Don’t stop, we want to watch. We have all the time in the world, and this is just too perfect to end.” 

Jack smiles and nods, “I can’t believe you were so patient. You wanted her from the start.” 

Paz growled in his throat and turned his attention back to you. “I can’t give you everything I want to right now, baby girl, you’re still hurt too bad.” He kisses you tenderly, nibbling your lower lip and then swiping at it with his tongue. “I want you to just relax, let me take care of you. Love you so much, baby girl. We all do,” he murmured. He was not in any rush, still just kissing you slowly and thoroughly. Your hand wanders over him, tugging at his shirt. You break the kiss, “Please, take all this off.” 

He wastes no time in pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his pale skin littered with scars, then undoing his belt one-handed and kicking off his pants and boxers. He looks across you at the others and gives one firm nod and you hear three sets of clothes being wriggled out of and tossed away. He comes back to you, once again devouring your mouth slowly and with great relish. He’s massive, a solid wall of warm flesh, and now that he’s been freed of the confines of his clothing you can feel that he’s massive _everywhere_. You had all seen each other in various states of undress through the years but never had they seen you, or you them, entirely bare. You wonder what other surprises await you.

He’s going so slow and you’re just sinking into it, almost not caring if he never does anything more than this. He starts sliding the blanket up to uncover your legs, your tortured thighs, and pauses there, pecking your lips gently with small kisses, looking you in the eye, waiting for your consent. “Yes,” you whisper and you hear Din and Ezra both sigh in blissful contentment. Jack lets out a low groan. You feel adored. 

Paz slowly slides the blanket further up, revealing your swollen labia, the pink and already glistening hood of your throbbing, engorged clit peeking out from between them. You’re watching his face and you see his pupils dilate, his breath hitch, his tongue slide across his lip. You move your head to look down and Paz takes your chin between a large forefinger and thumb to stop you. He kisses you gently, “No, no. You don’t need to see that yet, baby girl. You just lay back.” He kisses you again, deeply, and you let yourself melt into the pillows, lost in a haze of euphoria. 

One large, warm finger slides slowly along your slick, wet slit. You sigh as he pulls his hand away and slips his finger into his mouth. His face is smeared with bliss as he whispers to you, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet. Beautiful, perfect girl.” He kisses you and you taste yourself on his lips. It’s magic. Heaven. 

His fingers trace your wetness again, the touch so feather light you can barely feel it. One thick digit slips just between your lips and strokes at the hood of your clit, slipping down and over and side to side with exquisite slowness and patience, leaving the achingly sensitive little bud alone for now. He wants to bring you there slowly, so slowly. 

You reach down to the twitching hardness you feel at your hip. Shit, he’s huge. Hard as steel, hot, and as you tease him as lightly as he’s teasing you there’s the sound of sighs and gentle moans from the other side of the bed. You’re lost in the sensations of Paz stroking you, kissing you, but you can feel the other three get closer, hear their rough breathing. 

Paz is moaning against your mouth as your hand traces soft swirls around the head of his cock, his fingers never leaving you, but stuttering now and then. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby girl. Soft and sweet and so fucking perfect. Never letting you go,” he groans.

You slide your hand down and discover that you can barely fit it around his thick shaft. Stroking slowly, you feel him tremble against you. 

After what feels like forever Paz starts to swipe at the tip of your clit, causing the smouldering he had begun building inside you to burst into flame. Your thighs tremble, and he begins tracing small, incredibly slow circles over the sensitive nub. 

You hear a strangled gasp from Din as your legs fall open a little more. You look up, seeing him there, staring at you and squeezing the base of his cock desperately, his eyes wild and legs shaking. You catch his eye, lick your lips and he’s over the edge, painting his stomach and chest with his release, unable to look away from Paz’s hand between your legs. Ezra follows quickly with a hiss and a moan as your gasps get louder, as Paz’s own panting and babbled praise of you becomes less steady. 

Paz seeks out your moaning, panting mouth and as you slowly pump his hard shaft in your hand, his lips slide and tease over yours and you can feel the wave starting to crest, pulling at that coil he’s been winding in your belly with his talented fingers, his lips on yours, and his heady words. 

“That’s it baby girl, just let go. Come for us baby girl. We wanna see how pretty you look when you come. Nnngh — Fuck I want — Oh f-f-fuck —” Paz starts thrusting slowly into your hand as a low keening wail rises from you, you’re so close, so fucking close, one more touch, oh, one more, oh god, this is heaven.

You hear Jack spit out “Oh, darlin’.” through clenched teeth as his hand slaps against himself and then slows. 

Paz starts babbling into your ear and you’re right on the edge, “Love you baby girl. Right from the fuckin’ start. We’re yours precious girl. All yours.” 

That’s all it takes to send you sailing into the sky, your clit twitching and throbbing under his gentle ministrations as your orgasm washes through you, your walls clenching and dripping. You’re on fire but it’s so good. Your fingers squeeze tight on Paz and he comes with a growl, fucking into your hand slow and steady, thick white ropes spilling over and onto the bed. Everyone lays there for a few moments, just basking in the calm, feeling good to be here with each other. 

Din gently moves the blanket off you and brings the sheet down over your legs, laying next to you and beginning to check on the spots of blood seeping through here and there. 

Ezra and Jack are draped around you like warm, adoring brackets, each with a hand tangled in your hair. Paz is quietly nuzzling your cheek, watching Din work. 

“Tore a few stitches.” He holds up the sheet so Paz could see, but blocking your view. 

“More than a few.” Paz scrubs his face with his hand, worry creasing his forehead. “Let’s get her settled and clean and then you can get to work, yeah?” He leans down and rubs noses with you, his blue eyes gazing into yours. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I didn’t mean for that to be too much. We’re gonna have to be extra careful with you for a bit.”

You thread your hands behind his neck and pull him in for a kiss. “Don’t you dare apologize. Any of you. I expect I’m gonna bust a lot more stitches before I’m healed, there’s enough of ‘em in enough places.” You’re trying to keep smiling, though as the pleasure fades you can feel the pain pricking along your front and a deep, achy itch in your side where you’re pretty sure you’ve opened a big one. 

Din and Paz get up with obvious reluctance, telling Ezra and Jack to stay right there with you. They move down to either side, taking turns 'sneaking’ kisses from you and trying to distract you from the wetness you can feel at your side. You think it would probably work better if they didn’t keep throwing worried glances at each other, but if they’re going to keep lavishing you with attention this way you figure you can let it pass. 

Paz returns first with a huge stack of clean sheets and towels and a couple of dish pans. “Quartermaster’s going to see if they can find us a room with a bath attached, but he doesn’t think any are close enough to here so we can move her. They didn’t realize what had happened. Right now he just knows she’s been hurt badly. It’s been kept quiet and no one who knows is allowed to talk. A grunt’s coming up with water for us.” He busied himself pulling a blanket over you and getting sheets ready to bathe you and change the beds. Ezra and Jack get up and get dressed quickly, pulling off the velcro cable ties and then moving two of the beds back to their spots, afterwards separating the other three by a few feet. None of us wanted to answer the questions our current sleeping arrangements would undoubtedly raise. People already think conditioned merc teams are weird enough. No need to add to the problem.

‘ _We might be brainwashed, but we’re not fucking stupid_ ’ flashes through your mind and you feel yourself frowning. You are brainwashed, though. Does that make any of this less real? Less true? Even when the Conditioning works fine it spurs you to obey your commander, work closely with your team, be honest to a fault with them, trust them with your life. You signed up for that. Wanted it more than you wanted anything else. What Ezra said was right. You had been half in love, all of you, before the Conditioning. You had been inseparable and kept up a training and drilling regimen that left little time for social lives and your work often kept you in close quarters for long periods. If you hadn’t liked each other so much you wouldn’t have made it through the first year.

Ezra’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “I can hear you thinking, Dove. It’s not just pain that has you pouting, now, is it?” He tucked the blankets around you, making sure none of your wounds were visible. “If there’s something you need, or don’t need, you only have to say.”

“It’s been one hell of a week, Ezra. I’m not pouting, I’m just — thinking it through.” You take a deep breath. “Maybe pouting a little. I’m so fucking tired of this. I’m too fucked up to work, too fucked up to _walk_. It’s goddamn torture.” 

“You are not a bird that was meant to be caged. Patience, though, Dove.” he drawls, shooting you a serious look. 

A knock at the door signals the arrival of the water, four huge field cans, and a boiler. You turn your face as the door opens, hiding the bandage and closing your eyes. You let yourself drift, trying to just ignore the ache and the feeling that you want to sink into the floor so no one else could see you. 

The door closes and you open your eyes, turning your head to stare at the ceiling. It’s going to be a long night. The healing is slow, and it itches, so sleep is hard won since you’ve been insisting on half dose shots. You can’t stand the way the drugs coat your thoughts in molasses, making you sleepy and slow, and you need to be clear headed for what’s coming. 

They make short work of bathing you, gentle and by now practiced at working together to minimize the contact on your sore, bruised flesh. They exchange the damp sheet for a dry one and then move about the room, getting ready for your medic.

Din returns, having gone to the base medics and gathered the supplies he’ll need to stitch you closed again. “I can’t give you a local. I’m not rated so the pharmacy won’t let me sign it out.” He sounds nervous. “Can you do this? Without anything?”

“Yeah. Won’t be the first time. Just work quickly. I don’t think it matters anymore if your stitches are neat.” You start to laugh at your joke but it comes out choked. You’ve been trying not to think about it, but you’re going to have to. Eighty three wounds. Eighty three slashes over about six square feet of skin. Jesus Christ. “Just get it done, Medic.”

It’s true that it’s not the first time you’ve been stitched up without a local. When you were contracting you were caught up in a demolition gone bad, taking a hit to the helmet hard enough to split your scalp from crown to nape when your lid twisted on your head as it deflected the brick. You’d hit a local clinic and they had no anesthetic to speak of, so you just dealt with it. 

This is nothing like that. You can feel a snarl on your face as he works. You’re too fucked up to mod so you’re bare and raw to it all, fighting for control of your breathing. Every inch of you feels abused and sore and he’s carefully suturing where you’ve just ripped out the previous repair jobs. You could swear it went on for an hour but when you check the clock as Din finishes you realize it’s been about fifteen minutes. 

You shut your eyes and just lay there, welcoming the sudden quiet in your nerves. 

“Hey, do you want a shot? It’ll help. You can sleep for a change.” They know you’ve not been sleeping. Shit. 

“I don’t. I need to think. I can’t think with that shit in me.” Your eyes are still closed, but your voice is clear enough. “If it gets bad I’ll ask. Right now it’s okay.” 

“One to ten?” he asks. 

“Four. Five, maybe.” You open your eyes to look at him. “It’s fine. I’m — I’m fine.”

He nods and starts clearing everything away. You close your eyes again. 

People in your line of work manipulate their brains all the time. Mods to help you train. Mods for fieldwork that keep you alert, and help you regulate your responses, keeping you calm and focused. Mods for specific roles. When Team Conditioning came along it was a revelation. A lot of people thought it was horrific and there was constant talk of us being cyborgs with chips in our heads or government controlled killing machines. Neither was anything close to the truth. 

Mods just let you manipulate the way your systems respond to stimuli. You can ignore an itchy nose entirely. You can keep your heartbeat even when you’re stressed. You can steady your hands by will alone. Conditioning, however, can lock you into specific ways of thinking — of being. You don’t go into it blindly, and you’re not a zombie. You couldn’t be forced to do anything you truly didn’t want to do. You still have free will. It’s just that free will can be a bit uncomfortable for you in certain circumstances. 

There’s the psychological stress of an overlayer of a deep desire to acquiesce while the you underneath resists. There’s also pain. Kind of. You know it’s not real. It’s your mind that’s hurting. Your thoughts. The sensation isn’t unbearable and it’s not _truly_ physical. It just feels that way. Still, it’s definitely not _comfortable_. Keeping secrets is intensely difficult under those circumstances. So is disobeying a legitimate order. 

So what does that mean for this, here and now? They’re all honourable enough that if you said no and meant it that would be the end of it. It would also be the end of the team. You can undo Conditioning, but working with people when you’ve had that bond and it’s been broken has had some disastrous results. 

You know that if you didn’t want any of this there would be a part of you saying no. Of course, the paranoid cynic in you says that since you’ve never had that happen outside a clinical setting maybe it’s just something they tell you. Maybe you don’t have free will but you also can’t unwant something and choose it again just to prove you have a real choice. 

Fuck, you could go around like this forever. When it comes down to it you’re not ‘brainwashed’ as much as you’ve been trained in a slightly invasive way to have loyalty, empathy, trust, and respect for the chain of command, the unit, and for each individual in that unit. Same-same — but different, as your neighbour back at your tiny house would say.

But there’s four of them. How does that work? What in the hell happened this afternoon? Two weeks ago you were all prepping courses for your recertification when you won the opportunity to join the Mil Exercises. It would be great training with a lot of opportunities to see new tech and new methods. Your comrades were just that. Comrades. 

This afternoon you were a panting, wet mess of want and need as your fucking Commander teased your clit and made you come, screaming, so fucking hard and slow you tore the stitches holding your sliced flesh together, while you jerked him off and he fucked your hand and your teammates pleasured themselves at the sight because they agreed it was perfect that he should have you first. 

And you liked it. Just thinking about it has your cunt clenching on itself, slick and wanting.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.


	2. Force Majeure

What the actual FUCK, indeed. **  
**

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. The things you took on to be a better hunter, a better soldier, a better killer — are also driving something quite the opposite. Try as you might you can’t find a shred of anger over it. It wasn’t intentional, obviously, but you would think that anyone should feel a little miffed that all the playing in your brain wasn’t as foolproof as you suppose you’d been led to believe.

You wonder if that’s just one more aspect of the conditioning. 

_You don’t mind the effects because you don’t mind the conditioning because the conditioning is meant to make you not mind being conditioned once you’ve accepted it._

It’s a mobius strip of specious reasoning that doesn’t let you grip an edge. You just keep going around. 

So what are you dealing with? 

You can’t report this. Any instability in mods or conditioning is grounds for immediate suspension from the Union and with that hanging over you you’ll never work again. You can’t try to get help for it through legitimate means, so if you tried to get this undone or otherwise altered you’d be going to back-alley brain scramblers, and that is not an option. 

Mods are designed to block or reduce the effects of certain stimuli within the brain. They work because they don’t allow you to actually panic, or feel pain, or overheat; because they help you release endorphins or adrenaline at the right moment by blocking antagonists and sometimes by boosting, altering, or dampening the electrical impulses they were programmed to be watchful for. Mods are mechanical things. Tiny nanoprobes that settle in along your neural pathways, nestle into your brainstem, flood your cerebellum and cerebrum. They don’t care about context. You activate them by thinking of your ‘password’ which causes a particular series of impulses and then they just go to work. You can bring them to an immediate halt the same way.

Conditioning, on the other hand, is designed to enhance the effects of certain stimuli and is heavily context-dependent. It’s not as mechanical. It uses the bots coupled with psychological manipulation, cognitive-behavioural therapy, and aversion therapy to reinforce existing processes, spurring your brain into making more serotonin, endorphins, oxytocin, and a host of other chemicals; all while blocking the antagonists for short periods to reward you for intimacy, honesty, openness and in some cases obedience when interacting with particular people in particular ways. At first it’s a bit disconcerting because you feel a weird, but not unpleasant, low-level high when you obey an order from your Lead or work through a problem with the team. You’re not exactly stoned, and it doesn’t cloud your judgment. It just feels incredibly — great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Like your brain is doing a victory dance. 

The difference lies in the fact that you can’t turn conditioning off. There’s no ‘going back to normal’ because it is what’s normal. All of it. All the time.

Which helps explain why you’re all suddenly acting like a bunch of horny teenagers, you suppose. If the mundane and everyday activities that bring happiness and fulfillment to the team are made to feel just a bit more right, a bit better, then —

You were well and truly fucked. 

_Not quite yet, though, huh?_

You stifle a giggle and the movement in your chest pulls at some stitches. 

_Definitely not yet._

***

The mood in the room has shifted. You’re stuck in place but they’re all fidgeting about. Not one of you has said a word since you were stitched back up and they all seem unable to look at each other or you. 

Right, enough of this. Time to give this thing a bit of a shove. 

“Hey,” you call out. “Who’s going to help me to the mirror?”

Four pairs of rather horrified eyes turn your way. So it’s pretty bad, then. Right. Well, at least you’ll be prepared, right?

They’re just standing there, looking a bit green, when you speak again. 

“I can’t do it by myself, so someone has to help me. You’ve been keeping this from me for a week, now. It’s not like I don’t know. I was there for it. I just want to see.” You’re doing your best to stay level and sunny, despite the apprehension you’re feeling. 

“I don’t think — ” starts Jack, but Ezra cuts him off. 

“I’ll take you, Dove. We don’t have the right to act like we own you or can dictate what you do.” He says, shooting a rather pointed look at the rest of them. There’s an undercurrent of tension, as if this is not the first time this has been said. 

Ezra helps you up and when the rest make to follow he holds up the hand not currently supporting your arm, “She doesn’t need a big audience for this. We’ll be back shortly.”

He leads you out of the room and into the silent hallway. The other two units on this wing are empty and the door to the central gathering area is closed and locked, giving you privacy. You head for the shower room where there’s a full length mirror. 

“Don’t be too angry with them, Dove. They’re pure of heart and have the noblest of intentions in this. Despite their inclinations to the more chauvanistic ways of love, and their infrequent experience with such a deep connection to the fairer sex, they have no real desire to oppress your spirit.”

“Thanks, O, enlightened Cassanova,” you chuckle. 

“Now, I definitely did not say I had any more experience, Dove,” he sighs. “But I do know that you do not deserve being treated like a curiosity or a child.”

You stop and peck him on the cheek. “Thank you.” Ezra flushes a bit and smiles.

“You ready?” He turns and makes sure he’s looking you in the eyes you arrive at the door.

“No, but I’m doing this anyway,” you reply and he laughs.

“You’re definitely getting back to yourself, Dove. Things will settle, just be gentle with us, and yourself.” He leads you through the door to stand in front of the mirror. “You want me to go?”

“No, but turn around. Okay?” You’re on edge but determined. You have to know. 

He turns around, facing the door. You take a deep breath and drop the sheet. 

A strangled noise leaves you but you don’t notice. There doesn’t seem to be a single square inch that remains unmarked in one way or another. From your neck down you’re a mess of purple, red, yellow, and green. You’re criss-crossed with lines of sutures like a distracted drunkard’s bad drawing of a busy trainyard. From your collarbones to a few inches above your knees there’s nothing but violent devastation. Where the cuts haven’t been sutured they’re scabbed, angy-looking, and indignantly pink around the edges. You will never again be able to be seen like this without it being very obvious that someone hurt you. 

For a moment you wish he had just finished the job so you could have been rid of him, the fucking freak. Now you have to carry him with you forever. He’s stuck on you and you can’t shake him and it won’t wash off. 

You’re so lost in your own head that you don’t hear Ezra saying your name, trying to get your attention. He finally turns around and sees you in the mirror, standing there with rage blazing in your eyes and tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re clenching your jaw so tight he can hear your teeth grind. He looks at your eyes, still locked on the wreckage of your torso, and puts his lips next to your ear. 

“Little Dove, Little Dove, fly home to me,” he croons in a low, sweet voice.

You meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s looking at you steadily. No shock. No pity. Just Ezra looking at you like he always does. It helps you unclench your jaw and draw a shaky breath, and you look back down at yourself. This is what they’ve been looking at for the last week and it makes a difference in how they see you, but Ezra is smart enough about people to know that and give you the thing you need most. To feel like yourself again. Not someone different than the person who dropped alone through the tiny cellar window because none of their bulky asses would fit. You heave a small sigh, as anything larger would probably bust another suture and you’ve had enough of medical intervention for the day. 

“Okay. I’ve had my look. I’m going to wash my face and then we can go back.” Ezra moves to help you over to the sink and you wave him away. “I can do this. I’m not going to fall.” 

You go slowly, mindful of your legs. You wash your hands and face and return to Ezra, who helps you wrap in the sheet again, toga-fashion.

“Before we go back I want to talk a bit with you. Not long, but there’s some things I need to say.” he began, gesturing to the padded bench along the wall. You sit, gingerly, and he continues, “Myself and my two genetic brothers don’t have a choice about mods, Paz joined up when he was 16 and has spent more of his life with ‘em than without. We’re all tied to the little beasties stalking the corridors of our minds but you, Little Dove, could still undo all of it and suffer no ill consequences. If you find yourself in doubt of your own convictions or our intentions I will help you as much as I can to free yourself of this. Birds don’t belong in cages.” he says, firmly. 

“Something’s got you worried,” you probe. “Care to share with the class?” 

He sits next to you on the bench, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I have known these men a long time, and myself even longer. We might comport ourselves with enough honour but we are not, not one of us, decent men. That is not a threat to your person though, Dove, just a statement of fact. Something you should be mindful of.” His gaze is even and unflinching. 

“I promise you I’m not unaware that it’s a fucking mess. For all of us.” You take his hand in yours, tracing the scars and his little tattoo. “Ez, I know you’re worried. I know you all feel like you crossed a line, but you have to remember I crossed it with all of you. Whether or not I meant to at first, I meant it this afternoon. I wouldn’t change it. Okay?” 

Ezra starts to say something, then stops. He fidgets with your hand for a moment, and you decide not to push. You know him and that it’s always best to let him come to it in his own time. Since he’s rarely at a loss for words, this reluctance always precedes something deeply held and normally well guarded.

He takes a deep breath. Looks you right in the eye with that sad-puppy look he gets when he’s desperate to project real sincerity. “Just promise me that if it ever feels like you can’t say no when you want to – that you will not hesitate to tell me. I’ll help you. I swear on my life, on everything I keep precious, that no matter what I might feel I won’t see you trapped, Dove.” 

“I promise, Ez.” You lean forward, despite your stitches, and brush your lips over his. He sighs, and his hand cups the back of your head gently, mindful of the wicked lump there. His kisses are just like him. A little rough, a little greedy, but sweet and ardent. He breaks the kiss and plants a peck on the tip of your nose. 

“You ready to head back?” He stands and helps you up, slowly. 

“I need some drugs and a nap, yeah.”

When you return to the room the air is tense. They’ve set the beds together again and they’re all busy with gear and bags and various other neglected chores. They all spring up when you come in, though they don’t seem to quite know what to do with themselves. You head over to the bed and stand next to it, looking at them. “So, which one of you wants to stick it in my ass?” You ask them in your sweetest voice and smile wickedly as you watch four brains completely short circuit. “The shot?” You say demurely, peeking at them through your lashes, and you can almost hear the Emergency Beacon hum going off between their ears. 

You glance over at Ezra and he’s got a grin on his face that says “Yes, I guess you’ve got us just as trapped.” It also seems to say that he doesn’t really mind. 

When you’ve had your shot and you’re tucked back into the center of your nest Jack comes and sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands. “I’m sorry. I was out of line and Ezra is right. You’re not helpless.”

“No, Jack, I’m not.” You fold his hands in yours. “I know you’re concerned. I know you don’t want to push too hard or too fast. First time in your damn life you’re actually trying to be careful.” 

He gets that gorgeous, crooked grin and his dark eyes flash. “Darlin’, it’s worth being patient for this. I promise I won’t stand in your way again. You’re not a filly to be broken or a problem to be solved and I won’t forget it.” 

“I get it, you know. I just finished confronting what the four of you have been looking at every day. It’s not — it’s awful. I’ll never look the same and my dreams of being a bikini model in my retirement are dashed,” you joke, trying to lighten the mood. 

No one’s laughing. 

You sigh and try again. “Can I just point out that I’m the one who looks like they picked a fistfight with a threshing machine, but it’s the four of you who are so deep in your goddamn feelings you’re making it seem like I’m at my own funeral. Shit. Lighten the fuck up.” Your words are blunt, but your tone is very gentle. “It’s nineteen hundred hours. None of you have eaten. I’m too fucked up on whatever is in that shot to bother with food, but you guys should all go down to the mess. Get the fuck out of here for a while. Eat some shit food, drink some shit booze and blow off some steam while I have a nap.” 

“You’re sure you’ll be okay by yourself, baby girl?” Paz asks.

“We have to do this eventually, and now is as fine a time as any. I’m not going anywhere, I just need to sleep. I’ll be waiting for you when you all come home. Now go!” You make shooing motions towards the door. “Don’t come back for a couple hours. You guys need to quit moping for a bit.”

It doesn’t take long for the fuzzy-headed feeling to thicken and swallow you down into sleep once the door is shut behind them. 

***

You wake when they come in around midnight. They’ve all obviously had a few, but they’re not in a boisterous or sad mood, just relaxed and having fun with each other. The best thing, though, is that they have brought you back a freshly made, buttery, and perfectly crispy grilled cheese sandwich. 

“Where the hell did you get this?” You ask, tucking in with abandon. You’re insane for a good grilled cheese and your lifestyle means you’re often missing out since they don’t exactly come in ration packs.

“We bribed the cook!” Paz stands up straighter and puffs out his chest proudly. 

“Din threatened him into accepting a bribe,” is Jack’s dry remark. 

“I just said that bribery is better than violence! It wasn’t a threat!” Din is laughing, a bit bleary from the drinks they’ve had. It’s good to see them less on edge. 

Jack shoots Din a wry smile, “I think the part where you insisted on him cutting into a fresh loaf and using the cheese intended for the Officer’s mess while looming over him seemed pretty threatening.”

“Well, thank you all. It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten.” You’re giggling as you shove the last bite into your mouth. Din tosses you a wet cloth and you wipe your hands and face then whip it back to him. 

They start stripping down to t-shirts and boxers and everyone settles into bed. It should feel odd, sleeping in a big pile like a litter of happy puppies, but you can’t believe you went through all those years never having done this. Ridiculous.

You should probably have another shot, but the medic’s drunk so that will have to wait. You settle back into the pillows and let sleep claim you. 

***

Morning arrives and you’re all sitting around munching on toast and drinking coffee from the little galley kitchen down the hall. Din, Ezra and Jack are heading out to help with the repairs and clearing the airfield so you can prepare to get off this island and back home again. Paz is staying behind to go over paperwork and the bills, having to reconsider a few jobs since they’ll be short handed. Picking up your tablet you start catching up with the world. You couldn’t stand the weight of your computer in your lap, so for now work will have to wait. 

The world is the same as it ever was, and you catch up on some papers and some bits of industry news. About mid-morning you notice that Paz has stilled at the desk in the corner, just staring out the window, brow furrowed. 

“What’s up, Boss?” 

He shakes his head and looks over at you. “Just thinking.” He smiles, but his eyes look tired. 

“Come on over here. Take a break and tell me about it.” You pat the bed beside you.

He hauls himself out of the chair and lays down next to you, his hand drifting up to play with your hair on the pillow. “We got to talking last night, at the mess. We might wait on taking another job until you’re healed. We can’t go in and be as effective without a full team, and — it wouldn’t feel right. You’ll be healed enough soon. We’re not hurting for money. It’ll give us time to train for the recert and - it’ll just give us time.” He glanced up at you and sweet Jesus, that man was nervous. 

“Okay,” you agree, remembering Ezra’s words about being gentle with both them and yourself. Maybe it’s not the worst thing to have some time to adjust, and you know that’s what he’s really saying. They need time to adjust, and he knows you do, too. He settles back on the pillow and the two of you lay there in the quiet for a few moments in the quiet and calm. 

Paz reaches out and turns your face to him gently. “There’s one thing you and I need to talk about before the others get back.” 

“Yeah. I guess we should. Probably should have talked about it a long time ago.” 

***

**_The bar is loud, dark and packed. It’s hot, you’re hot, and the drinks are ice cold._ **

**_The five of you had been working together for a little over a year, and had just finished an extraction. Home again after a few weeks away, you were out to blow off some steam. It was routine for all of you to hit the bar the night you got back, drinking, laughing and dancing off the remaining tension from the job._ **

**_Tonight the boys peeled off the group one by one. Each headed off on their own adventures, leaving you and Paz alone in the booth. You were sitting close so you could hear one another, knocking back drinks and talking about good times._ **

**_You can’t pinpoint when the mood changed. Maybe it was when you leaned against him. Maybe it was when he brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. Maybe it was that the two of you started talking about the day you met, and both of you were far too drunk at this point to have a filter._ **

**_He’s pressed against you and his fingers are absently tracing the outside of your thigh, up and down, hip to knee and back again. “Climbed me like a fuckin’ tree,” he chuckles, then there’s a catch in his breath._ **

**_“Wanna go again, Big Daddy?” You’re only thinking of teasing him, surely. That’s why your voice is breathless and wanting. Not because you’re thinking of the all times you thought about saying those words to him, aching for him, wanting his hands on you, his lips on you, his –_ **

**_His hand fists in your hair and grips tight enough to hurt just a little bit. “Is that what you want, baby girl?” His voice is a growl, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “You want my face between your thighs again?”_ **

**_A lightning bolt of arousal flashes down your spine and settles between your legs. You can’t think straight. All you can do is pant as a moan escapes your lips. Oh, you’re fucked now because your heart is pounding and you feel a little wild and a little like the world is just off-kilter enough that you don’t have to care about anything else except his hands on you and his voice in your ear._ **

**_His grip in your hair tightens a little more. “I asked you a question, baby girl. Answer me.” His breath is coming fast and his free hand is now wrapped around your waist, gripping you tightly. “Tell me, baby girl. Tell me you want me as much as I want you.”_ **

**_“Yes, oh fuck, please. Oh – Please. I – I want –”_ **

**_That was the moment a drunken couple slammed into your table, a jarring mix of smashing glass and screaming laughter from the intruders making you jump. You and Paz leap apart as reality comes crashing in like the glass on the floor._ **

**_You can’t. Oh, fuck, you want to. You wanted to from the second you saw him. You want it, but you can’t._ **

**_One look at his wild eyes and shocked expression has you bolting for the ladies room. When you return after splashing water on your face and straightening your hair he’s gone, so you stumble home, berating yourself for your loss of control._ **

**_When you wake the next morning with a hangover it all seems so distant, and you can only hope that tomorrow when you see them for training you can just ignore this. Ignore it and pretend it never happened._ **

**_It can never, ever happen._ **

**_By the time you join them in the gym you’ve pushed it all back down again, and it would seem Paz has done the same because it’s just like it always was – except you didn’t spar with him that day, or for the next few weeks. Both of you always had an excuse, but eventually even that awkwardness passed by and you just lived with it. As tough as it was to keep secrets, this was one neither of you were going to let go of._ **

***

He releases your chin and lays his head on the pillow. “I shouldn’t have left that night at the bar. I couldn't— I didn’t know how to do the right thing. I didn’t know how I could stay and not —” He took a steadying breath and continued, “I remember thinking that you were gonna say ‘no’. Punch me in the jaw. Maybe laugh at me. I think I was kinda hoping you would, just so I could get it out of my system. Get you out of my head.”

"I always thought you — I didn’t think you saw me like that — and then you were — the things you were saying —” You find yourself fighting back tears. Tears of frustration at the situation. Tears from feeling like you lost the chance at something that felt — it felt right. Even as wrong as it was. It was what you wanted. He was what you wanted. “I can’t explain any of this except to say that it’s not the same. I’ve never felt the same way about them that I do about you. I don’t understand it. Not now. I don’t know what it can mean with — with everything else." 

“I know that two years ago if I had walked in to see Din kissing you I probably would have kicked his ass.” He frowned, his eyes looking inward. “I want to say ‘I don’t mind’ but that’s not exactly true. I want it to happen. I want to see you with them as much as they wanted to see you with me. But —” He seems to be searching for what he wants to say, his distress evident.

“But. Yes. Exactly.” His eyes flick to yours, like he’s checking whether or not you’re making fun of him, but the look on your face is dead serious. “Eventually we’re going to have to pick this apart. If there’s anything to pick apart. I don’t know. I — I don’t know if I can right now.”

Paz rolls over on his back and scrubs his face with his hands. “It’s a mess. I used to wonder if maybe what happened between us — what was happening between us — if that’s what — broke things.”

“You don’t wonder about that anymore?” 

“No, because it doesn’t matter. Whatever the cause there’s no way we could’ve known. We didn’t find out about that other team until after, and by then we’d decided that we couldn’t — We weren’t going to put any of this on you.” He drops his hands from his face and folds them across his stomach, turning to look at you. “We had been hoping we could find something to fix this. Something that would let you have a choice. Let all of us choose.”

“I’ve spent the last two days trying to figure out whether or not I’d have chosen this, if that was possible. I can’t tell you what would have been true. I can’t tell what I might have chosen if — if I wasn’t who I am.” You frown for a moment, looking for the right words. “I know I chose to be bound to all of you in a way I felt I couldn’t do on my own by sheer force of will — or maybe I could have, who knows? I guess I didn’t sign up for all of this, not knowingly, anyway.” You sigh and stare up at the ceiling. “Does it matter though? I wouldn’t change it now. Isn’t that how we’ve been determining everything since we did this to ourselves? Isn’t that the metric we use to decide if — when we’ve done the right thing?” 

“That’s just life-or-death stuff. This is a little more serious.” 

His words catch you off guard and you find yourself laughing. It’s ridiculous, but goddamn if it doesn’t feel true. “Ezra’s worried. More than usual, I mean. I know all of this chafes more at him than any of us, for his own reasons, but I’m not sure his concerns are entirely off base.” 

“Ezra has a hard time treating the effects as real because he’s never felt deserving of that much — affection? Love, maybe, or trust? The people the Program placed him with — I know he’s talked to you a little about it, but I know he didn’t tell you about how they’d lock him in his room at night, telling him they were worried about what he might do. Just because he was a clone. They treated him like he could be a monster if he wasn’t careful. It never left him.” 

“It’s not just that, though.” You look him in the eye, knowing that you’re about to address the very large, very obvious elephant in the room. “We’ve all been programmed, for lack of a better term, to obey you. To acquiesce. To work together to achieve the goals you set out for us.” 

Paz flinches, looking incredibly uncomfortable. You know he’s thought of it, but thinking about something and having to discuss it are two very different things. 

“You’re worried that I’m going to use that to my advantage?” He sounds hurt, though he’s trying his best to keep his expression neutral.

“No, no I don’t think that. I think what I’m worried about is the same thing you four are worried about, just from a different perspective. Ez is worried I may come to a point where I feel I can’t say ‘no’ or change my mind. I’m more concerned that there’s a power dynamic here that works, feels right, and I’m worried we’re going to try to fight against it off the field for the sake of some heteronormative bullshit. I’m concerned that we’re not going to be freely saying ‘yes’ when we want to.”

“That is definitely a different perspective on this.” He cocks an eyebrow and gives you a confused look. 

“Okay, so consent isn’t just about whether or not you’re free to say ‘no’. It’s got a lot to do with whether or not you can say 'yes’ without reservation.” Shifting a bit, you try to settle yourself to ease the pulling on your stitches. “We’ve got a lot of talking to do. All of us.”

“Before we do anything like that you need to heal,” he sighs, heavily. He looks so tired, worry stealing some of his usual vigor. “You don’t admit it, but we see how much pain you’re in. How tired you are. You’re awake half the night and then you nap for a half-hour here or there during the day. It’s not enough and — Din’s getting worried about some of the wounds.”

“Any word on when we’re getting the hell out of here?” 

“Mil’s trying to keep us until they’ve gone through everyone else, but the Union is trying to get us out faster, once the airfield’s back in business. MacDonough’s been pushing for you to get airlifted to a nearby carrier where they have a better medical set up, but Mil’s balking at the cost — and the responsibility.” 

“I’m not surprised. So it’ll be a civilian hospital. That is if we ever manage to get out of here. Thank fuck I’ve got good insurance.” 

“Team’s policy covers it. Don’t fuck your premiums up over this.” He strokes a finger along your uninjured cheek and then gets up. “You need to eat. So do I. How about I go fix something and you rest a bit?" 

“I’m not hungry. I’ll just have some water.” 

“No, baby girl, you need to eat. You’re losing weight.” 

“It’s the drugs. I feel so sick all the time. It makes me dream strange things, sometimes when I think I’m still awake.” 

“I know. I hear you talking in your sleep.” He crossed his arms and looked down at you. “If you lose more weight it’s going to take you that much longer to get back to where you were. Besides, I haven’t signed off on your medical leave so you’re technically still on the job. You’re eating and that’s an order.” His face lights up in that amused, boyish grin that always hits you somewhere deeper than you’re usually prepared to admit. 

“Rat-fucking bastard,” you say, but the smile on your own face takes all the sting out of it. 

*** 

Lunch was a sandwich for him and incredibly bland canned chicken soup for you. At least the lack of flavour made it easier to get down. 

After he’s cleared the dishes away and helped you sit up to clean your teeth he goes to the dresser and pulls out the med kit for changing your bandages. 

“They’ll be back soon. We can change your dressings and then — I was thinking we could all just lay around for a bit. We’re all worried, stressed out, upset. We could use some time to decompress.” 

“Grab my computer. I’ve got some tunes on there. Anything is going to be better than the base radio station. Swear those guys are stuck in the last century.” You’re aware you’re grumbling, sounding petty and miserable. It irks you that you can’t shake the mood that’s dragging you down. You’re not tired, but you feel a bone-deep exhaustion that hasn’t left you since— 

***

**_‘If you try to run again I’ll strip the skin from you piece by piece.’ His voice strained, as if he’s trying to disguise it from you. It’s harsh, breathy. There’s a strangled quality to it, like when you try to speak after choking on a sip of water._ **

**_There’s a sharp line of fire across your chest and you can’t look to see what he’s done with his hand around your throat, but it feels deep. They all feel deep._ **

**_‘Do what I say and maybe there’ll be enough of you left when I’m done that your friends will still know who you are. Maybe I’ll leave you those pretty lips so you can smile when you think of me? Yeah, you’ll smile when you think of me.’_ **

**_With that he went back to his work and the world turned red all around you._ **

***

Your stomach heaves and you’re gagging, choking on bile, choking on the godawful lunch you forced down and which is now insisting on making its way back up. 

Paz gets a basin to you in time, helping you sit up with a pillow against your stomach to try to keep your sutures from tearing. Your stomach empties in waves of retching, Paz keeping the pillow steady with one hand and holding you as still as he can with the other. 

You can feel something pull, just under your breasts. 

***

**_‘Gonna take one of ‘em with me when I go.’ He flicks the blade back and forth, nipping little nicks into the flesh of one breast, then the other. Back and forth, left and right. ‘I. Just. Can’t. Decide.’_ **

**_He delivers a harsh slap to your injured cheek, rocking your head to the side. Fresh tears streak their way across your temple and flow into your hair._ **

**_‘Gonna leave ‘em one. I’m not greedy. No. Not greedy. They can have my leftovers.’ He starts giggling. Giggling. Like a child who has just told a naughty joke._**

***

Sweat slicks your skin, running into your cuts. The sting brings you back to the here and now, back to the safety of your barrack bed and your Commander next to you. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I got you. You’re gonna be okay.” It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you, at the moment. He moves the basin away, setting it on the floor under the bed. “You’re really warm. I’m going to get you some water. A cold cloth. Don’t move. Just — stay sitting there.” He gets off the bed and picks up the basin, hurrying out of the room.

The silence in the room is broken by an odd sound, like someone is saying ‘huh-huh-huh’ over and over. Where is that sound coming from? There’s no one here. 

It’s not stopping. It just keeps going. ‘Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh —’

Horror envelops you when you finally realize the sound is coming from you. You’re holding the pillow against your torso in a death grip, hands fisted and knuckles white, your arms trembling. Every muscle seems poised on the edge of snapping. Each breath feels like fog in your lungs, as if there isn’t enough air in the room. 

There’s an odd, peaceful awareness — a level of detached observation — to your thoughts. A part of you is sitting outside yourself, looking on, sublimely unconcerned and removed from the terrified panic swamping the body it’s left behind. 

This you that isn’t you — the part of you that’s both here and not — sits and watches. Sits and waits. Blank. Slack. Vaguely uninterested.

The door opens, startling you, and you shove your hands out and try to pedal backwards, away from what you know is coming through it. Away from the giggling madman and his knife that cuts red smiles into your skin. 

Except it’s not him. It’s just darkness. Nothingness. A swirling lack of light and space that is calling to you, oozing into the room. Planting your feet and hissing at the sensation of sutures ripping open as your thighs flex, you shove yourself backwards. 

The last thing to cross your mind is that you’re not in a large, hot, sunlit room. You’re somewhere else? Where? 

The back of your head makes contact with the wall you’ve sent yourself flying into and you’re unable to wonder anything anymore as the world lurches away from you in an explosion of sparks. Then darkness and quiet as the sounds of your panic stop.

***

Something — You’re trying to remember something? No, that’s not it. That’s not right. What was it? What — 

Your eyes flick open to Paz leaning over you. There’s a cold cloth folded under your head and one being gently wiped across your face and neck. 

Right. That.

“You scared the _shit_ out of me. What the fuck happened?” He actually looks scared, too. 

You can’t say those words. You can’t tell them. Any of them. 

A shock flashes through you. Your head pounds with phantom pain and you feel a sick compulsion to lay it all bare, every last shameful detail. You fight the urge, swallow it down. The pain crests, then begins to recede as your own will takes over. Now all that’s left to deal with is the odd feeling that your very soul is _itchy_ with a restlessness that sinks in deep and will take much, much longer to quell. 

“Baby girl, what happened? C’mon, talk to me, please,” he pleads. 

“I, um, I think I was just — lost in my own thoughts and the door opening startled me. I guess I jumped and hit my head.” You’re trying to keep your voice level and are somewhat thankful you’ve just knocked your brain into next week so you have an excuse not to look him in the eye. 

“That’s all?” You know he doesn’t believe you. He knows you know it. He won’t push you, though. He’s been doing this long enough. He knows what he saw. He knows the smell of fear-sweat and the way you can slip out of time and space, getting lost in the maze in your head. He also knows you can’t force some doors open without causing a lot of damage. 

“That’s it. Just caught by surprise.” You’re both blatantly ignoring the reason he had left the room in the first place, and each of you can see the lie in the eyes of the other. It’s one more secret you’ll keep together. In time it won’t feel so hard, and life will go on. 

“They’ll be back soon. You wanna wash up and change your bandages before they do?” He’s giving you an out. A way to keep them from seeing your distress, but he’s also giving you the choice not to do this alone with him if you don’t want to. 

How much longer is everything you say and do going to be a dance around the things you can’t bring yourself to face? It’s madness and it needs to end — but it can’t end. Not yet. It’s too big and you’re just too small right now. It’s too close. 

“Sure, let’s get me presentable for the heroes of the Air Field. I feel like a sack of shit.” 

“Yeah, you look like you’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge,” he teases. 

***

A sponge bath, dry shampoo, some butterfly tape, plus a change of bandages later and you’re feeling less frantic. The buzzing along your nerves hasn’t calmed entirely, though it’s faded enough for now. 

“I messaged Din, asked if they could pick up something to eat on the way back.” He’s fidgeting around, tidying up the desk and setting out your laptop, grabbing pillows and blankets and laying them on the bed. When he runs out of obvious things to do he just stands there, looking about, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I know you’ve been concerned about me, but how are you doing? You seem — uncomfortable.” 

“No — I’m fine — I’m —” He shakes his head and raises his eyes to look at you. “Are you afraid of me? Did — Did I scare you earlier?” 

“Shit, no. Paz, this isn’t — it’s not you. It wasn’t you. Never.” You reach out to him and he comes to sit on the bed next to you. “I swear to you, on my life, that I’ve never been afraid of _any_ of you. Not even at your worst. Okay?” His blue eyes look into yours and he seems to find what he needs there, the tension in him easing. “Now go put on some music. It’s indexed pretty well, so just pick a category and go for it.” 

He mock groans, having always professed to hate ‘playing DJ’, but honestly loving the way he can set a mood with a few pushes of a button. Tunes for heading into a firefight. Tunes for coming down in the aftermath. Tunes for training. Tunes for endless hours stuck in a truck, rolling through unfamiliar landscapes you’ll never see again. 

At the desk he fiddles with the keys a bit and then the sounds of Bach’s Cello suite No. 1 in G Major played by Paul Tortelier come from the speakers he’s set up. It’s one of your favourite recordings of that classic Suite, and one you’ve often played for your boys when you’re in a lazy mood and looking to drift together in silent companionship. 

As the first bars of ‘Prélude’ fill the room the shadows lingering in the corners dissipate, the familiar notes floating through the air chasing away the miasma of misery and uncertainty. Despite having passed away in the late 1900’s, you feel the living presence of the artist every time you hear the piece. You can hear his intakes of breath, the nuance of his bowing, even the string rubbing the neck during a particularly wide vibrato. 

The boys always tease you over your love of classical music, particularly in light of the rest of your music library which is a lot of very loud, very bass-heavy, decidedly more violent tunes. Much to your amusement, though, you had learned that Jack is an incredible dancer the day you put on Chopin’s ‘Grande Valse Brillante’ in the gym as a joke and he swept you up into his arms and whirled you around the floor like a pro. After that you made sure to hit the dancefloor with him every time you went out and it was always a blast. The man has moves and hips that can swing like a monkey in a tree. 

Ezra? He was known to do a simple foxtrot with you now and again to some soft country tune, or a little bump-and-grind to some reggae. He generally avoided it unless he’d had a few, requiring a few more than a few before the bump-and-grind. He wasn’t shy, he just didn’t think he was very good and couldn’t be convinced otherwise until you loosened him up. Even then, he would dance with you for a song, maybe two, before he was tapping out and heading back to the table. 

Din doesn’t dance. He’ll sit on the sidelines and tap his fingers, maybe nod along to the beat if he’s feeling particularly into the fun of the evening. Despite his natural grace in the gym and his love of showing off his physicality during training or a good fight he was not a man who enjoyed getting physical in less violent ways, particularly not in front of an audience. 

Then there’s Paz. 

Paz dances, sure. It wasn’t rare to see him with a pretty woman in his arms, swaying and talking. Sometimes it ached a bit, because you wanted him to be looking at you that way. You wanted to be the woman in his arms, the lights swirling overhead, the smell of stale beer and bar patrons unable to reach you. You never did get your chance. Well, you haven’t had your chance _yet_. 

Fuck, this is complicated. You think back to all the times you’ve seen the others with women and how it didn’t even faze you. You’d even wingman for them, but not Paz. Not that he’d have asked you to. The few times you saw him leaving with someone or saw him getting dropped off at the gym, kissing someone goodbye — it made your heart sink. Thinking about it now still has the same effect. 

But how can you even think of jealousy when — Oh, fuck. This is very, very complicated. Too complicated to try to work through now, anyway. You’re sore, the sheet is catching on the exposed sutures, and you just want to get the hell out of this bed. Off this island. Away from — all of this. 

***

You were dozing when they returned, the smell of something delicious bringing you out of your half-sleep. Jack is lounging next to you on the bed and Ezra is over near the window. Both have wet hair and are dressed in their usual night wear, t-shirts and boxer shorts. You must have been dozing a little more deeply than you thought. You could have sworn you’d just closed your eyes, but you can’t deny that you’ve been in a state of constant fuzzy-headed sleepiness for some time and you feel a bit better after your short nap. 

“Hey Darlin’,” drawls Jack. “You almost ready for some dinner? We’ve got pork dumplings, hot and sour soup, and shanghai noodles. The cook we bribed the other day was more than happy to accept another payment and divert some of the good stuff on its way to the Officers’ Mess.” 

“It smells fantastic!” You look at Jack with a frown. “But you’re all criminals, now. Bribing a member of the Armed Forces. Once I’m able to I’ll be slapping the cuffs on all of you and hauling you in.” 

Jack’s eyes crinkle with amusement and his crooked grin lights up his face. “Darlin’ if you can manage to get me in cuffs you can do whatever you like, I promise,” he purrs at you as he leans in for a kiss. His mustache tickles a little and his lips are soft and — Oh, it’s very nice to kiss Jack. 

“Paz and Din should be back soon, do you need anything, Dove?” Ezra is smiling, as he usually does when he looks at you, but his eyes betray his concern. You wonder how much Paz said, or if he had even needed to say anything at all. 

“I’d like you to come over here, for a start. Please?” 

“I couldn’t deny a beautiful woman a simple request.” He pads his way over to the bed on his bare feet, stepping lightly as he always does. He has a habit of walking almost silently, making as little noise as possible. As a matter of fact, that’s how Ezra went through all of life, if he could help it. Quietly, making no waves, avoiding imposing his own will until it was necessary. 

As you reach for him the cotton sheet catches again on an exposed suture, making you draw your breath in with a hiss. Laying back again to ease the stuck piece of gut out of the weave you sigh, feeling your mood sink again. 

Jack turns your face to him as Ezra climbs onto the bed, “Darlin’. I know this isn’t ideal, and maybe I’m overstepping, but it seems to me you’d be better off without this sheet catching you constantly.” He’s smiling, still, but much like Ezra there’s concern in his gaze. 

“Yes, Dove, I agree with Jack. If you’re comfortable with it we should get that sheet off you. I know you said you’re okay with what’s underneath, but — are you really?” You know he’s got the image of you staring at yourself in the mirror fresh in his mind’s eye. 

“I’ve heard guys use a lot of excuses to get me bare, but medical necessity is a new one,” you joke weakly. You’re back to feeling a little sick again at the thought of the four of them seeing you like this — It’s silly, because they’ve all seen. They’re the ones washing you, changing bandages, helping you to the washroom. There’s nothing about your body that’s a secret anymore, to any of them. 

Okay, almost nothing — but, still. 

“Yes, it’s fine — I have to get used to it. I —” You drop your head to the side as tears come, unbidden, to make your vision blur. 

“Shhhh — It’s okay, Darlin’. You don’t have to do anything. Not until you’re ready.” Jack presses his lips to your temple, smoothing your hair back with a strong hand, then swiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. 

Exhaling shakily, you turn your head and look at the two of them. “It’s just that it looks so _awful_ — it’s so — I don’t know how to say what I want to say.” You shake your head, frustrated with yourself. “I know you’ve all seen. More than I have. I’m not — I’m not ashamed, exactly. I just —” 

Ezra lays a finger on your lips. “ _You_ are not ugly. What’s been done to you is ugly and you have to find a way to live with that. I hate to say it, but we all do. None of us can change what’s already happened, no matter how much we’d give up to do it.” His eyes soften and his hand brushes your cheek. “Dove, you can’t forget that nothing anyone could do would change what makes you beautiful, not to me. Not to any of us.” 

You know he’s right. It’s not physicality binding you to them or them to you. It’s not about perfect skin or a tight ass — not _really_ , anyway. It isn’t about what you might do with each other when there are no prying eyes. It’s — more. Deeper than lust, deeper than love. It’s intimacy. It’s knowing someone and trusting someone with everything you are and everything you have and knowing they’re right there with you. 

“I hate this,” you sigh. “I hate feeling — whatever this feeling is.” You spit out a broken laugh, shaking your head. “I hate not knowing what it is that’s going on in my own head. I can’t pick it apart. I think I’ve got an end and it just reveals another knot.” 

Jack takes you by the chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look him in the eye. "This isn’t something you can pick apart so easily, Darlin’. None of it is. You can’t expect to do this in a week — or all by yourself.” He leans in and sets his forehead against yours, holding your gaze. “You won’t do this alone.”

He sits back, tilting his head and trying to smile reassuringly, though right now his eyes look too worried for it to have the fullest effect. “I know that we can’t ever understand all of it — I can’t even pretend to — but we know enough. Don’t shut us out." 

“Do you know anything about — about him? Anything at all?” 

Ezra glances at Jack and something passes between them that you can’t quite decipher. Ezra turns to you, “No, not yet. We can’t get near him and no one who knows anything is willing to talk. Yet.” 

“We know that he has a guard rota of eight. They’re all with Base Command, they say. They’re not grunts, but they’re not exactly SEALs either. No one is allowed in or out without escort, and as far as we’ve been able to pry he’s been questioned daily and hasn’t broken or they’d have stopped by now.” Jack frowned, the creases between his eyebrows deepening. “Everyone swears he’s an unknown, though. No team’s claimed him and no one seems to know how the fuck he managed to get on this island in the first place.”

“When the brass came to see me they asked me two questions I thought were strange, given the circumstances and what you guys said you’d told them.” You pursed your lips, trying to remember the exact wording. “They asked me if I was sure I didn’t know him. Not ‘do you know him?’ but ‘are you sure you don’t know him?’. As if — not like they expected me to lie, but like they knew — someone else had, or maybe could have lied? A bit later they circled back to it, but they asked the question in a different way. They wanted to know if I had ever seen anyone who looked like him before. Not ‘did you see him before today’, but ‘have you ever seen anyone who looks like him before?’, as if —” Something was ticking over in your head. Something about the questions but you can’t quite see what it is.

The door opens and Din and Paz come in, fresh from their showers. You smile at them, and at Ezra and Jack. They always look so much younger without all the trappings of their jobs, with wet hair and fresh scrubbed skin. 

When Din joins Jack and Ezra on the bed as Paz fetches the bag with the food it hits you like a bolt out of the blue. You could swear you actually hear a lock opening as your mind finally kicks back into gear after so many days of being mush. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. They think the guy that did this is a clone.” Everyone is suddenly dead still, staring at you. “The questions they asked me. ‘Are you sure you don’t know him?’ and ‘Have you ever seen anyone who looks like him before?’. Why ask the question like that unless you were assuming that not only would it be likely for me to have seen him, but that it was also likely for me to have seen someone else who looks exactly like him?”

“He’s not from the Program. I’ve seen every single face and that wasn’t one of them,” Paz interjects. “There’s only two dozen or so possibilities.” He stops here and reddens, coughs. He hates discussing the Program. He hates everything about it except for the team he’s built with these men. "They still send me shit, but I usually just chuck it without bothering to look at it too closely. Next one that comes in —”

“You really think this guy is one of us?” Din’s face is, as usual, calm and inscrutable. His voice, as usual, gives him away. 

“Not one of you,” you reassure him. “This guy is not — he’s not — You’re nothing like him.” You shift a bit, trying to find a comfortable position that isn’t putting pressure on the burns on your back. “Remember that ridiculous thing we did in Turkey? We had to grab that guy who’d been holed up in that fucking fortress of a compound for, like, six years?” 

Jack absently rubs the scar on his temple where he’d been grazed by a bullet before Din managed to get a tranq dart into your quarry. “What about that crazy sonofabitch?” 

“The way he talked — that weird disjointed way he’d start a sentence like he was already halfway through it, like we should know what was going on in his head — this freak did the same thing. He —” You shudder and the sheet catches on your sutures again, making you hiss. “He didn’t let me talk — he’d cut me if I made a sound — but he wouldn’t shut the fuck up. He just kept —” Your stomach threatens to rebel again, but you take a deep breath and swallow your rising gorge. 

“You don’t have to —” Ezra’s voice is unsteady, his jaw working the way it does when he’s in pain or afraid. 

“I am. Just — he kept telling me which — which parts he was going to t-take.” You’re shivering now. The boys seem frozen in place. “But h-he also told me which parts he was g-going to l-leave. ‘For them’ he said. I — I think he meant you guys. I don’t know if — I don’t think he knows you but I think he knows about you. But —” Here you pause, unsure of how to describe the feeling you had. 

You’re trying to convey an impression formed in a moment of intense physical and emotional stress. The feeling you want to express is all tangled up in a thousand other things and since you were unmodded at the time you don’t exactly trust your own recollections. You’ve come to depend on the calm focus of mods when the chips are down and without that clarity it’s difficult to separate the threads of your thoughts. 

Paz sits next to you on the bed, setting the bag down. “But what, baby girl?” 

“You could smell the fucking crazy on this guy, but this wasn’t random — he was sending a message. There was plenty he said that was just pure insanity, but — he kept talking about you. Kept saying he’d leave —” Your voice wavers and you clear your throat. “He kept saying ‘I’m not greedy, not like them’.” You shut your eyes for a moment, and even though there’s a part of your mind screaming at you to leave it alone you keep going. “He — he didn’t talk _to_ me. He talked _at_ me, like a child does to a doll or the way you do to an agreeable cat. Like that guy in Turkey. He didn’t believe we were real. Hadn’t seen a soul for six years and his mind broke. This fucking asshole — he had the same vibe, but not when he was talking about you.” 

“You think he’s been in isolation?” Din asked. 

“Not — not exactly. Maybe?” Blowing out a breath from between pursed lips, you shake your head. “It’s hard to say. I can’t get a grip on it, not all at once. I — I’m sorry.”

Din looks as though you slapped him. “Stop apologizing. Please, please stop. I — we don’t expect you to be _sorry_. You didn’t do anything wrong. Please — just stop, okay?" 

Paz settles a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Din. It’s alright. We’re all on edge. We haven’t talked about this together yet and it’s raw. For all of us.” He gave Din’s shoulder a squeeze and let go. “Let’s eat before it gets cold. We have all night to talk.”

***

Despite the mood going into it, dinner was not a somber affair. The food for the Officers’ Mess is usually a cut above and this was no exception. As you ate, slurping soup and munching on dumplings, the five of you discussed the jobs Paz had been reviewing and what your plans would be for the next little while. 

“We can’t take the job for Frank,” Jack was saying. “He’d need all of us for it. He was relying on our little angel here to deal with the surveillance and he’s not a man to accept anything but the best.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Jack,” you say, laughing. “Can Frank’s job wait 'til I’m back at it? I’d hate to think of him trying that bullshit without us there to keep his foolish ass alive." 

"You just want to work with him 'cause you think he’s handsome,” teases Ezra. It’s one of his favourite jokes to make when the subject of a job for Frankie comes up. 

Frank is another 'genetic brother’ to Ezra, Din, and Jack. He started, as all clones do, in The Program but was invalidated when he turned to drugs to deal with the recurring pain of an injury and the stress associated with trying to work at less than one hundred percent. He managed to pull himself together and get his pilot’s license restored, using work for a charter company as a cover to run his own jobs now and then. 

“Yeah, it’d be nice to have a hot guy around for a change.” You can’t help but laugh as your head is pelted with fortune cookies, the feather-light sweets causing no pain but the plastic packaging making an awfully impressive sound as they rained down amid raucous laughter. 

Paz starts picking up all the cookies. “Yeah, Frank said he can wait. I didn’t tell him much, but he said to tell you to listen to Din for a fucking change ‘cause he’s sick of working with amateurs.” 

“For Frank? I’ll do it.” 

Din stands up and starts to clear away the remains of dinner. “So if you’re going to listen to me it means you’ll let me give you a once-over without a fight this time?” 

“Mmmm, I guess so. Screwed myself over there, didn’t I?” 

“You want us to go for a walk?” Ezra says from where he’s lounging at your feet. 

“Nah, you guys can stay. It’s about time I had witnesses to the torture this sadist puts me through.” You push the sheet down off your chest, getting the moment over with before you lose your nerve. The bruising is fading slowly in spots, from purple and black and a deep, worrying blue; to yellow, green, brown and a sickening, hot red in places where you’ve been irritated by the sheets and blankets you’ve been under. 

Din left most of the bandages Paz had changed alone, only lifting a few of them to check the deepest wounds. He noted the butterfly tape holding you together where you’d torn yourself in your panic. He glanced up at Paz, who just shook his head as if to say ‘Not now, just leave it’ and Din, to his credit, said nothing and just kept on with his work. 

“Okay, sweetheart, we gotta do your back now. Are you ready?” Din reaches out and smoothes back your hair, then bends down and gives you a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be as quick and careful as I can. It’ll be over before you know it.” 

“I know.” You carefully get off the bed, and Ezra gets up to help you stay steady on your feet, having guessed what was coming. 

“Jack, can you get on the other side, here? The steadier she is the easier this is gonna go, I think.” Ezra’s drawl is relaxed, and his grip on your arm and hip are light and easy. Jack stands, comes around to you and mirrors Ezra’s stance, leaning close to whisper in your ear. 

“Always a pleasure to hold a pretty girl.”

You smile, a bit wanly, knowing what was about to happen and, not for the first time, imagining all the things you plan to do if you ever get your hands on the motherfucking crazy freak that did this to you. You tense up, anticipating the pain, and Din reaches out to rub your shoulders. 

“Relax. Come on. You know it’ll hurt a lot more if you’re fighting it. Just breathe through it.” He gives your shoulders a final squeeze and begins peeling off the tape holding the ‘non-stick’ pads to your back. 

Despite the name, they still stuck to the stunner burns. They had suppurated, having been weepy and raw and staying that way. It would have been better to not put any pressure on them, but there was no way you could lay on your front for any period of time. You had tried rolled sheets and towels to prop you up, but that caused too much pulling across your chest and stomach. 

Din pulls off the pads after he’s soaked them with sterile saline. You’re shaking by the time he starts to clean the gaping holes underneath. He goes as quickly as he can, Ezra and Jack holding you steady and Paz sitting on the bed in front of you, holding your hands and encouraging you to breathe when the pain overtakes you. 

By the time Din’s done you’re wrung out, shuddering and tired. The boys help you back into bed and settle you as comfortably as possible, then Ezra moves to help Din tidy up. Once they’re done you’re in a half-doze, and you can only hum contentedly as they climb into bed and your boys all wrap themselves around you gently. 

Your afternoon and early evening are spent in and out of naps, listening to them talk quietly and sometimes joining in sleepily. When they need to wake you for a shot or a pill it’s with kisses and soft touches, slowly bringing you out of your daze and into a safe nest of love and devotion.

It’s dark out when you surface from a nebulous dream of clouds and trees to find that the boys are all undressed, piled around you and talking in hushed tones, lazily stroking themselves.

“Hey, baby girl. We got to talking about going home, all the things we wanna do — we couldn’t help ourselves, you just look so pretty and we can’t wait — it’s fucking hell waiting to give you everything you deserve.” Paz grins lasciviously as he traces his fingertips up and down the shaft of his straining erection.

Ezra, still at your feet, is making his way up your legs with kisses, gently stroking and parting your legs to allow him access to your uninjured inner thighs. Din and Jack are on either side of you, nuzzling into your hair, kissing your neck, both of them gently teasing your erect, pebbled nipples with their fingers. Paz is off to the side and just behind Ezra at your feet, content to simply watch as the boys lavish you with loving attention. 

“You just lay back and relax, Dove. I wanna do this right, and a thing done right takes time and patience.” He licks and sucks at the skin, drawing sighs from you with his soft touches. Slowy, slowly he makes his way up, pausing when you can feel his hot breath on your mound. “How I have yearned to taste you —” He plants a hot, wet kiss on your swollen lips, “Dreamed of feeling your sweet nectar drip down my chin — a perfect peach, blushed and ripe —” Another hot kiss, not parting your lips just yet. “Such a pretty pussy — never thought I’d get to see —” A trail of kisses is pressed along your quickly dampening slit, up and up to the cleft at the top. His tongue darts out and traces its way along where his lips just were, and Ezra groans as he gets his first real taste of you. 

Ezra takes his time, alternating between hot kisses and slow licks. Memorizing your reactions and teasing you with just what you want, then backing off and trying to find something else to make you moan and whimper.

He starts kissing you like he was kissing your mouth. Parting you with his tongue, his lips around your clit, planting little tender kisses that seem to ignite a fire in you. 

“Ez, don’t stop — fuck — oh fuck that’s perfect.” You run your hand through his hair, the other fisted in the sheet beneath you as Din and Jack alternate between kissing you and giving sweet, quick sucks to your painfully hard and oversensitive nipples. 

Ezra’s lips keep sucking you in just a little, releasing you, sucking you in again. Soft, sweet, almost innocent kisses and pecks but what they’re about to do to you is anything but that. You can feel your walls start to clench, you can feel your clit grow engorged and throbbing against his lips as he relentlessly attends to your sensitive bud, moaning with abandon as your wetness drips down into the scruff on his chin. 

Din captures your mouth with his in a deep, possessive kiss, then lays back to lazily fist himself as he teases your nipples with his fingers, rolling them and pinching at them gently so as not to pull your skin too much. Jack’s laying beside you and he can’t seem to look away from Ezra. Jack is squeezing the head of his leaking cock, gasping, giving himself the occasional stuttering stroke. His mouth is open, breath unsteady, his eyes bleary with lust and his body shaking, begging for release. Reaching out, you pull him in for a kiss and as soon as your tongue parts his lips he’s moaning into your mouth, his hips thrusting himself into his fist as he succumbs to his pleasure. 

When he calms you lay back, looking down at Ezra between your legs. He’s staring up at you, and as you look into his eyes you see all the love and want and devotion he has for you. The feeling of being so adored — so worshipped — sends a jolt through you, leaving you teetering on the edge of orgasm. 

He stops for a moment, having felt the trembling in your thighs, and whispers against your heat, “I love you, my little Dove.” His lips brush against you, making you shudder deliciously, and then he’s taking your mound into his mouth and sucking and it’s heaven. His tongue parts your lips and circles your clit, gasps wrenched from your throat with each tantalizing lick and once again he’s got you right back at the pinnacle —

“Oh, Ez, you’ve got her right on the edge. Look at her — fuck, look at that gorgeous girl.” Paz’s words are choked, and he’s panting. “Look at me, baby girl. I wanna see your face. L-look at me when you come,” he demands. 

When your eyes lock with your Commander the wave inside you crests, “Oh fuck — fuck — Ezra — don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop — it’s so perfect — fuck I’m gonna come, Ezra — Ezra!” Your orgasm crashes through you, and you see Paz’s eyes widen as his strokes still for just a moment — and then he’s shooting his load with a yell and when it hits Ezra’s back Ez’s eyes roll and he thrusts his hips into the mattress. Though his tongue never slows you can hear him groaning as he stiffens and releases, humping at the bed wildly even as he keeps eating you like a man starving. 

Din is kneeling by the pillow, the head of his thick, gorgeous cock just within reach of your lips and you’re suddenly dying to taste the bead of pre-come forming on the head. You turn your head just a little more and he hisses as your lips envelop the tip of him, tongue swirling. 

“Ah — fuck — too much, too much — gonna — fuck-here-it-comes!” His hand leaves his shaft and cups the back of your head as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth, spilling his load across your palate as he whimpers and convulses, “Oh — fuck — your tongue — swallow it all, sweetheart. Take it all — baby — please — fuck!” 

With the last spurt he pulls out of your mouth with a pop and collapses back on his heels, laughing and gasping. 

You relax back onto the pillows, taking in the scene around you. 

Jack’s at one side, curled up next to you and holding your hand, kissing your palm and your fingers lazily. Ezra is laying on his stomach between your spread legs, chin resting on his folded hands as he gazes up at you, still licking his lips where you’ve soaked his face. Din is doing his best to regain some semblance of control on the other side of you from Jack, flushed and chest heaving, with a grin a mile wide. Paz is watching all of you, a look of pure contentment on his face as he strokes and pets at his softening length. 

You may have had doubts, but they’ve all been washed away by the sheer force of the connection you’re sharing right now. 

Jack gets up and gathers some towels and warm water, and together they clean themselves and you, then change the sheets on the bed and settle you in for the night. 

“Leave the sheet off me, please. I think I’m okay without it.” Your voice is sleepy, feeling far away as you sink down into the blissful haze they’ve induced in you with their caresses and kisses as they tend to you. 

The last conscious thought you have as Paz settles behind your head and Ezra at your feet, Din and Jack to either side, is that you must be the luckiest woman alive to be here, in this bed, surrounded by these men and their love and you can’t wait until you can show them all just how much you have to give. 

***

Morning comes with a clear sunrise streaming through the windows. There’s a knock at the door shortly after Paz returns from the little hallway galley with coffee. 

Jack rises and slips out, not letting whoever it is see in. He’s not gone long and when he slips back into the room his eyes are alight with something that could be happiness but seems to contain a kernel of fear. 

“Brass just sent over a grunt to let us know we should pack up. They’re gonna ship us out day after tomorrow. They got a transport comin’ in and we’re going back home when she leaves.” 

Paz rises and goes to the desk, “I’ll let the Union know, if they don’t already. They’re going to need to clear us all when we get back. The grunt say where they plan to drop us?” 

“Nope. I don’t think they gave him anything but the message itself.” He looked out the window at the sky, a frown deeping the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “I’ll head over to Command and get the details.” He stops to kiss you as he heads to the dresser to get ready. “I’m glad this is finally over, Darlin’. You ready to go home?” 

“Hell, yes. I can’t _wait_ to get the fuck out of here.” 

You know now that whatever is ahead of you there’s never again going to be anything you’ll have to face alone. You’ve got your boys, and they’ve got you. 


	3. Force Majeure

After ten hours on an inadequately heated troop transport plane, miserable with the shivers that pull at your skin, you land. The Union has an ambulance waiting for you on the tarmac. Despite your insistence that you’re fine and recovering, there’s no getting out of it. You were injured on the job and if you want to continue working with their blessing you have no choice but to acquiesce. **  
**

The hardest was saying goodbye to the team. You can’t betray anything in front of anyone. The slightest hint of what had transpired in the last three weeks would tear it all apart. The Union has puritanically strict rules about “Fraternization” (mercs call it ‘fuckin’ in the field’) and not a year goes by that some team isn’t getting hauled in for questioning over it. There’s hasn’t been any actual fucking yet in your own case, but that’s merely a technicality.

You walk under your own power, albeit slowly, to the ambulance. As they help you up and you turn to sit on the bench you catch a glimpse of the boys getting into the back of a van, heading off to be debriefed before they’re sent home. You shut your eyes and lean your head back against the wall. 

It’s been a long day, and it’s going to be an even longer night. 

***

It turned out to be a very long month and a half. Despite best efforts the shock burns on your back were healing badly, and you quickly rejected the initial attempt at skin grafts. After that you had to endure debriding, and then they had to put in a shunt to drain fluid from the worst of the injuries on your torso, a near perfect asterisk cut deeply into your lower belly, against the curve of your hip bone on the right side. They try to keep you as comfortable as possible but you shun the painkillers as much as you can, wheedling nurses into reducing your dose. Best to keep your wits about you and your mind focused on getting the fuck out of here. 

The physical poking and prodding isn’t the worst of it, though. The minefield of psych examinations in your current situation is an additional stressor, making your patience wear thin far faster than it normally would. 

At first you wonder if they don’t believe you when you tell them there was no rape. They treat you like you have been, question you like you have been. Some with syrupy sweetness, cloying and sticky. Some with a brusque and businesslike manner, keeping emotional distance as if you were infectious somehow. Like the bad luck was going to rub off on them. 

How can you explain to them that no matter what happened to you in that room the days afterwards saved you? You can’t tell anyone and you can’t explain the tics you can’t control that they take for anxiety, or perhaps panic, because telling them the conditioning is causing you pain and discomfort would be catastrophic. Even if they didn’t put two and two together they’d assume the conditioning was impaired and that would be the end of it for you.

So you withhold and you suppress as much as you can. It’s true, you discover, that conditioning is irreversible without intervention. You can’t break it or beat it. You can, however, avoid it. You find that you can think of other things, you can occupy your inner self and still answer questions, or simply feign disinterest in the interviews. 

You begin to calm. They won’t find any new answers and you’ve filed every report and piece of paperwork you needed to. They found no fault in your telling of it. The forensic evidence bore out your story, as did the reports and interviews of everyone else who was anywhere near you that day. You were in the clear with Mil and there was no doubt the Union would draw the same conclusions. You were sane, your modifications and conditioning were operational and unimpeded, you weren’t reckless, and your team was not at fault. 

They finally take your discomfort at their prodding to be suppressed anger at your injuries and the man who caused them, deciding that you’re ‘processing the incident as is expected’ and finally leave you alone. 

You’ve been held for four weeks without any outside contact while they make sure you’re not going to snap and turn into an unfortunate story on the evening news. By now most of the stitches are out and where before there were scabs there’s now just pink, red, and white puckered flesh streaking across your skin like meteor trails. 

The burns on your back, as they remove all the dead flesh, are healing. Each one is a small, round divot, a rough-textured cup of shiny new skin. They feared muscle damage but found none, thankfully. You’ll heal completely with time and proper aftercare. 

At first the scars are tight, hampering your movement, but after almost coming to blows with your nurses they allow you to start exercising. First in your room and then in the staff gym. Stretches, sit ups, push ups, pull ups, yoga and weights fill the time and this is when you feel most like yourself again. Pushing your body, feeling your strength return after weeks of near inactivity. They won’t let you run outside, so you make do with the treadmill, running and running until you can’t see, can’t hear, can’t feel. It’s just you and the pounding of your feet, the sound driving everything from you but the sensation of your strong heart pushing the blood through your veins and the air rushing in and out of you. It helps keep the loneliness at bay. 

You come back from a five mile run in the gym before breakfast to find one of your doctors waiting for you in your room. 

“Good morning!” He’s always so fucking sunny you want to drop him. Even when he’s stripping dead skin from your back he’s so _cheery_ it feels a little obscene. You suppose, though, that you’d prefer it over gallows humour at the moment. “You’re progressing well,” he says, as he consults the file he has with him. “You’re healing nicely and the therapeutic team has given you the all clear. You’ve got a few more treatments for your burns, but you can go home in two weeks.” He smiles at you, and you can see he’s genuinely pleased for you. 

“Can I have my phone back now?” You’ve not spoken to anyone since you arrived here. No calls, no messages, nothing. Verboten. The Union takes no chances. Bad press abounds so they do everything they can to prevent it when possible, keeping mercs they think might be unstable under close and careful watch until their fears are assuaged. 

He smiles and slips your phone out of his pocket. “I knew you’d be looking for this.” He hands it over to you and prepares to leave. “Your breakfast will be here shortly. No tests today, no treatments. You’re free,” he laughs as he’s walking out the door. 

You sit in the easy chair by the window, hitting the power button and shoving the earpiece in your ear. Your message alert is flashing. There’s the usual work stuff, the usual junk, and here and there you see encrypted messages. You open the first one with your passkey and see it’s from Paz. 

_‘We got called up for a jump squad. They won’t tell us anything until we’re onsite, so it’s got to be pretty heavy. I love you.’_

Your anxiety is lessened considerably by the fact that there are many subsequent messages from him, but you can’t help how it twists your heart to know that he wanted to make sure that you knew. That you would always have it with you in black and white, no matter what. 

_‘Job went okay. Everyone’s in one piece. Lost two of the client’s trucks. It’s not the same without you, so hurry the fuck up. I love you.'_

_‘They say you’re gonna be okay. We cried like kids. I love you.'_

_‘It’s 0300. I miss you so fucking much.’_

_‘We got the spot we wanted for the re-cert. You can get an exemption, but we booked your flight with ours. We’re too scared of what you might do if we didn’t. I love you.’_

_‘The sun is setting and I love you.’_

_‘Me and Ez finally got the truck fixed. You’re welcome. I love you.’_

_'It's late. I need to sleep but I don't want to stop thinking about you."_

_‘We got you a welcome home present. So hurry up. I love you.’_

_‘I know you can’t answer me. I wonder if you think I’m crazy, just telling you whatever it is I can’t hold in anymore. Come home soon.’_

_‘They say we can maybe talk to you in a week. I love you.’_

_‘I dream about you. I need to hear your voice.’_

This last message was an hour ago. You hit ‘reply’.

_‘Call me. I love you, too.’_

Within a minute your phone is ringing. It’s Paz. 

“Hi— I missed you. I love you.” You’re keeping your voice low, but the lack of volume can’t hide the relief expressed.

“Hey, baby girl. I love you so much. When are you comin’ home?” His voice is cracking a bit. He must be alone.

“Two weeks,” you sigh. “How are you? How is everyone? I— I’ve been so fucking lonely.” The admission wasn’t one you planned to make, but you felt compelled to tell one of the few people who might understand what it is to be apart for long periods from those you’ve been conditioned with.

“We’re good. We’re feeling it too. Look— They, uhhh— We got drinking a few nights ago and— they know everything. Already knew everything. So we don’t have to hide. We have to talk, probably a lot, but it’s going to be okay.” 

“All those times you got tortured and all they really had to do was get you shitfaced with those three and you’d have given up everything.” you chuckle quietly. 

“Are you okay, baby girl? Really?” You wish you could crawl through the phone and curl up next to him to take the worry from his voice. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Stitches are almost all out. Been working out to kill boredom and keep from turning into a potato. I just want to go home.” 

“We’re gonna call you later. I gotta go. I don’t want to but I’m at the range and it’s my box up next. I love you so much, baby girl.” 

“I love you.” 

*** 

Later that evening, after a lacklustre but well balanced dinner of shitty hospital food, shitty tea, and a terribly mealy apple for dessert you were sitting in your room, toying aimlessly with your phone and waiting for it to ring. 

You were sick of this place. Sick of the treatments, of the still fading hot itch that burrows into you where you’re still healing. Sick of being alone. Lonely. 

Two more weeks. 

At last the phone rings and you feel like you could cry from the relief of hearing their voices again.

They've got you on speaker and at first it's just all of them talking at once and then they're laughing. It's probably the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Hi boys—" your voice breaks and the tears start to fall. "Fuck, I'm missing all of you so much."

"Don't cry, Darlin', you're makin' us get all weepy, too." Jack says quietly and you can hear the upset in his voice. "We're all too ugly to cry, especially Din."

Now you're laughing through your tears at their favorite groaner of a joke. This one's more handsome, that one's ugly— it was always guaranteed to tickle you, hearing the three nearly identical men fake-bicker about who’s most handsome. 

Ezra clears his throat, "How are they treating you, Dove?"

"Like I'm a patient, Ez. Sometimes like I'm a naughty child— I'm trying to behave but you know me and rules," you chuckle.

"Paz says you’re stuck there for another two weeks?” You can hear the concern behind Ezra’s easy drawl.

“Yeah, these burns are a bitch to heal. It’s coming along, though. Most of the stitches are out now, so I’m a lot more comfy than I was a couple weeks ago.”

“You refusing drugs, still?” Din’s voice comes through the line, deep and quiet as always. 

“Only the pain meds, Din, and only when it’s not too much. I promise I’m taking everything else they throw my way.” 

“Hmmm— Just don’t skip them if you’re really in pain. You can’t heal if you’re not at ease— or not sleeping enough,” he chides. 

“Yes, Dr. Djarin. I promise I’ll be a very good girl,” you purr demurely, a low laugh bubbling up. It felt good to laugh with them, to feel closer to them even if you can’t see them.

You spend some time talking about nothing and everything with them, then Paz pipes up, “I need to talk to our girl alone for a sec, guys, I’ll bring her right back.” He switches the phone off speaker but you can still hear the guys in the background teasing him with ‘wooooooo’ and ‘hubba-hubba’. 

He’s laughing as he’s walking away, the phone now to his ear. “I’m heading to my room, just hang on a second.” 

“You okay to talk some business, sweet girl?” 

“Sure thing. What’s up, Boss?” 

“Just a couple things, nothing heavy. Insurance is covering everything as far as medical, and there’s a lump-sum payout waiting for you. Should cover anything additional you’ll need once you’re out and then some. I got the cheque here for you when you’re out.” 

You let out a relieved sigh, “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. I’d have eaten some serious shit on my premiums for my personal plan if I’d tried to claim the ridiculous amount of shit they’ve done.” 

“Are you really okay? I got some reports— you know, for the insurance. Five surgeries— I— are you _really_ okay?” For a man that large his voice sounds so very small right now. 

“Yeah, Paz, I promise. Three were just for the shunt, you know, on my belly. Where he— where it was real bad. Things weren’t healing well, some issues with infection and then they had to move it a bit when the scar tissue started to grow around it and close it off. It’s good now. It’s out and the stitches’ll be out about a week after I get home. Sore as fuck, though. Feels like I’ve had an angry wolverine chewing on me.” 

“I’ll bet. What about the other two?” 

“One was the night they brought me in. My back was bad— well, you all saw it. They got to me that night around 2 am. I got the Disney Pass treatment and went to the head of the line. Shittiest ride in the park, though.” You feel like you have to crack jokes to lighten the mood because if you don’t you’ll need to face up to how horrible this is, and you do enough of that without bringing Paz along on your detour down Depression Avenue. “The other one was a couple days later, I don’t know when exactly. The infection just went nuts, I guess because they tried grafts in a couple places and my immune system just couldn’t take any more. They had to get a picc line in and remove the grafts. I don’t remember much of that one. I was pretty out of it.”

Well, looks like you screwed up Operation Don’t Make This Shitty. 

There’s silence on the other end of the line and then shaky breathing. A deep breath blown out and you can almost hear him straighten his shoulders, “Can I tell the guys? I won’t if you don’t want me to— I just think they should know.”

“Of course, yeah. There’s no reason for any of this to be a secret. I— we’ve got to stop keeping secrets, Paz. I— I know we can live with it, but I just don’t fucking want to. Not between the five of us.” 

Paz sighs, “Yeah— there’s a few things we should talk about. Not now. When you’re ready— but you gotta talk about it, baby girl.” 

“I know. But not now. For now you can take me back to the boys and you can all tell me a bedtime story about what the fuck happened on that jump squad and how the fuck you managed to lose two fucking trucks.”

***

The days passed slowly with the last series of debridements and then antibiotics and aftercare. The day you were to go home you were up and in the gym before the sun was up. When the treadmill hit eight miles and you still felt like you were going to jump out of your skin you decided to just try to roll with it. You showered, dressed, and packed then waited for the doctor to discharge you. 

Rounds start at 1030 hours, and you’re the second patient. You had messaged the guys and told them you’d probably be out around 1130. At 1015 you get a message telling you they’re waiting for you downstairs, don’t rush, but they’re anxious to see you, and you can’t get the dumb grin off your face. They’re so close and soon you’ll get to be back with them again. 

At about 1045 the doctor and interns all crowd in. They discuss the case, but there’s not much to say. You’re as healed as they need to make you and you’re free to go. Paperwork is signed, files handed over, and that’s that. You thank them and grab your bag, practically sprinting for the stairs. You barrel down the three flights to the lobby and dash out into the large waiting area. 

They’re hard to miss. Paz is head and shoulders above the rest and the crowd naturally splits around a group of three clones, people still being nervous about that kind of genetic manipulation. 

You cross the foyer slowly. They haven’t seen you yet since they’re watching the elevators. You sneak up behind them and when you’re just a step away you say, “Looking for someone?” 

Instantly you’re enveloped in four pairs of arms. You’re all laughing like a group of fucking idiots who have supervised custody of one brain cell between them, and it feels so good. You’ve missed them all so much. You start to giggle harder when you realize that you’re short enough that you’re no longer visible except for your legs so it probably looks like four guys hugging and laughing like loons. Everyone is talking at once and you feel like maybe this goddamn nightmare is getting close to being over. 

“Okay! Okay! Let me breathe!” It comes out in gasps between fits of giggles. They break the huddle and Paz quickly grabs your hand, squeezes, and lets go. 

“I’ve got some prescriptions to fill before I leave. They’ve still got me on antibiotics and some stuff for the scarring. Some painkillers. Pharmacy’s just at the end of the hall. I’ll be right back.” You rifle through your bag for the sheaf of papers you’ll need to hand over. 

“We’re not letting you out of our sight right now, darlin’,” laughed Jack. 

Din holds out his hand for the paperwork, “Can I take a look? I just— It’s not that I think I know more, I just want to see what they’ve got you on.”

You hand over the paperwork, which you know contains enough information for him to get a very clear picture of what you’ve been through since you got here. There’s scrips for dressings you’ll need where they removed the shunt, ointment for the tortured flesh on your back, silicone bandages to help reduce the heavy scarring so your skin doesn’t tighten up too much. On top of that there’s two antibiotics, NSAIDs, and a very generous supply of low-dose opioids that you didn’t intend to touch. You’d had a hard enough fight to get them to stop giving you morphine via IV, and you weren’t about to go back to that sick, fuzzy feeling that gave you nightmares and left you feeling a constant, low-level panic. 

They crowd around you as you make your way to the counter. From the outside it must look like you’re being shepherded by a cadre of very clingy bodyguards. You hand over the paperwork and your insurance card and you’re told it’ll be at least 15 minutes. 

You all head to the corner of the waiting room where there’s some comfortable chairs and no crowds. None of you can keep the ridiculous grins off your faces. It feels so amazing to be back together again. Pushing five seats into a circle you’re all fidgeting, all of you finding hands restless and wanting to reach out but knowing you can’t because the five of you cuddling in the corner would attract even more attention than you already do as a group.

Din is the first to speak, “So no grafts? They didn’t try again?”

“After how badly the first set went they were waiting and by then the treatments they were giving me were going to work well rough without, so they didn’t bother. There was no need and they didn’t think they could use donor tissue again, so it would have been my own.” You shrug, sighing deeply as Ezra clasps your hand and threads his fingers through yours. “I had enough scars without them giving me more.” 

“We missed you, Dove,” says Ezra quietly. “We are flawed without you, disjointed. Your absence is privation itself.” 

Jack is sitting directly across from you, those puppy dog eyes and goofy grin warming you like sunshine, “Since you’ve been cooped up inside all this time we thought maybe you might like to go camping next week? Frank’s offered us his spot up in Shenandoah, says he can fly us up there.” 

Frank has a cabin deep in the wilderness, built himself on land owned by his partner in sometimes-but-not-quite-crime Santi Garcia. You had all been up there the year before last for a month while you planned and prepped for a job and it was a temperate paradise. The house was large, with four big bedrooms with ensuites and plenty of outdoor space. The kitchen was massive and well appointed as was the large living room and entertainment centre. 

The best part, though, was that there was a lake entirely on Santi’s property that was deep and cool, with plenty of room to swim and kayak and fish. The massive stone deck off the living room that overlooked it was the perfect spot to sit in the evenings around the huge firepit to watch the sun setting over the trees, painting the lake in neon colours.

“Yes, I think that sounds fantastic. I assume we’ll be planning Frank’s job while we’re up there?” 

“Why, Darlin’, of course! It’s tradition, isn’t it?” He throws you a saucy wink, “Can any of us really just sit around like a bump on a log? Don’t worry, though, we’ll get plenty of fishing in.” 

Your mind flashes to going for a long, cool swim in the heat of the afternoon but then they turn to having to wear a swimsuit. You try to stop the frown creasing your forehead, but before you can get too deep into self pity they’re calling your name at the counter. 

Once again they all crowd along with you, unwilling to be too far apart just now. You take the bags from the bin they set on the counter and scan your credit card, then you head out to the lobby again.

“Okay, take me home, please. I need a real shower and I’ve been cycling through the same three outfits for almost two months.” You sigh with anticipated pleasure at the thought of your needle sharp incredibly hot shower thanks to having installed your own 60 gallon water heater and agreeing to pay the electric and water bills for your little rented house. 

“Paz’ll take you back to your place. Come see us as soon as you can, okay? We have a lot to talk about, and we really missed you.” Din says as he pulls you into another hug along with Ezra and Jack. 

“Love you guys. I’ll see you soon,” you whisper. 

You straighten yourselves and they go. Now it’s just you and Paz. 

“I’ll take you home, baby girl. Truck’s just outside.” He goes to grab your hand and catches himself, grins like an idiot and catches himself again. You're just as happy and you keep walking faster, just wanting to get out of public view. 

You throw your bag in and climb into the front. Paz gets in and takes a deep breath before turning the key. He sits there, just letting the engine idle, and turns to you. 

"This is fucking torture." His chest is heaving. 

“I know. Let’s just get there without getting pulled over. We have time.” You’re not any steadier than he is. 

Paz manages to navigate the city streets without incident, pulling into the driveway at your place and parking. The lawn and little front garden are neat and tidy, your arrangement with the neighbour’s son still in good-standing, thankfully. Paz grabs your bag out of the back and follows you up to the door. There’s no drift of mail, but you don’t doubt the folks who manage your PO box are grumbling about the number of bins they’re having to use.

Your hand is trembling. You feel like you can’t breathe. The key finally turns in the lock and you open the door, stepping inside the cool dim of your home. It’s neat and tidy. Your cleaning lady will show up and let herself in each Tuesday and Friday at 10 am regardless of where you are in the world or what you’re doing. 

You shiver a bit when it hits home how your life would appear to tick over with clockwork perfection even if you were no longer living it. As long as the money in your account held out the automatic payments would be made and no one would be the wiser. If it had ended for you out there on that island it wouldn’t even matter—

You hadn’t heard Paz close the door or come up behind you. He can see you shaking like you’re about to come apart. He gently puts one hand on your back and it unlocks something in your chest. You take a shuddering gasp and turn to press your face against his solidity. His arms come around you, holding you tight as you finally let out all the pent up rage and fear and sadness. 

When the storm passes you lay your cheek against his chest. “This wasn’t exactly how I pictured coming home.” you say, apologetically. 

“You’ve been in shock, drugged or under twenty four hour close observation for the last two months. There wasn’t time until now. I get it.” He’s running his hands up and down your back, trying to calm the shivers that are running through you. “Why don’t you have a shower, change. I’ll go pick up some stuff to make dinner later. I— I don’t want to be in a rush. I thought I did, but I— it doesn’t feel right.”

“How about I cook dinner? I'll send a list down to the butcher and the grocer and you just have to pick it up. Don’t bother with wine, I have plenty. If you want beer though, you’ll have to get some.” 

“Wine is fine. There’s only one problem,” he says, as he plants a kiss on your head. 

“Oh? What’s that?” 

“I gotta let you go and I’m not ready yet,” and he holds you closer. 

***

When you finally, and reluctantly, disentangled yourselves from one another you messaged your list to the grocer. Veal scallopini, fresh pasta, butter, cream, lemons, garlic, herbs and various other delicacies ordered, you added on a request for some fruit, cheese, and coffee, trusting Mr. Zetticci’s choices in the matter. In the years you’d lived in the neighbourhood you had been half-adopted by Mr. Zetticci and his wife after spending an entire rainy Sunday morning arguing joyously and boisterously with them over the right way to make a bolognese. Mrs. Zetticci was on the side of milk, and you were on the side of cream and a good veal gravy, and Mr. Zetticci was in heaven because “Two passionate women arguing over the best way to feed a man? It’s like love poetry to a grocer!”

You sent Paz off and then headed for the shower. You’d grown used to the sight of your skin in the mirror by now. Well, it wasn’t shocking at any rate. Sighing, you turn on the water and any negative thoughts are banished immediately upon the hot, sharp spray beginning to rain down. Ah, heaven. You take your time and you’re just drying off when you hear Paz return. 

You towel dry and comb your hair then dress quickly in loose, soft cashmere pants and a sweater. The neck of it dips down a bit over your shoulders and reveals some of the scarring on your chest. You look in the mirror and consider changing, then discard the idea. It’s your flesh and you can’t change it. Might as well just learn to live with it. 

When you enter the kitchen Paz is putting things away. “I have no idea what you’re going to make, but that grocer of yours is a weird guy. When I told him I was there to pick up the order for you he had it there, but he looked me up and down like he was measuring me. Told me to wait for a moment, ‘The young lady forgot a few things,’ he said.” He pointed at the string bag on the counter. 

Inside were a carton of eggs from the local lady who kept chickens, a half-dozen scones, some sliced smithfield ham, a pomegranate, two perfect peaches, a pint of tiny, ruby-red wild strawberries, a jar of clover honey, and a bottle of clotted cream. 

Mr. Zetticci’s love language was food and he was sly enough to guess that anyone making fettuccine with cream and butter, veal piccata, and having cheese and fruit for dessert was in the mood for love. He also knew with absolute certainty that lovers need to be nourished before and in the morning, after the passion. You can only imagine the questioning you’re going to have to endure when you see them next.

You steer Paz over to the table and put on some coffee with a pinch of cinnamon. The warm smell fills the room quickly as you pull out or put away this and that, knowing that the two of you need to talk and also knowing that you will be better at this if you can keep your hands busy. 

You pour coffee for the two of you, bring him his cup and then return to the island counter to carefully hull and slice strawberries into a bowl. You watch as he stretches out his legs, relaxing at your table. 

You speak first.

“That was one bad job, Boss. You’ve had the report back now since you’re my command, so you know.” You carefully insert the knife, turn it, and slip out the hull of a berry leaving a little bleeding red heart between your fingers. You regrip the knife and begin to slice against your thumb, dropping thin, red, heart-shaped slices into the bowl. 

“... _Damage is permanent but not debilitating._ ” You quote, having seen the report before it was sent. “That is probably the most accurate diagnosis I’ve received in a post-injury report in my entire career. Mil found enough evidence to support my verbal and written reports, so I’m not under any sanctions or restrictions. I have my Union hearing next Tuesday. I assume they’ll say the same.” You pick up another berry. Slip, turn, slice.

“You want a lawyer for the hearing?” He was staring into his cup. “It’s in your contract. Just say the word.”

“Under any other circumstances I’d say yes, but let’s not pretend people aren’t absolutely fucking horrified by this. They’re not going to dump more shit on me. They’re not ghouls.” Slip. Turn. Slice.

“Are _you_ horrified by it? I know the report says you’re ‘adjusting well’ and ‘able to process the incident constructively’, but I learned that you don’t let anyone know what’s going on in there unless you mean to.” He sets his cup on the table and fixes you with a steady gaze. You lay the knife down on the counter and look into the bowl. Your vision blurs for a second, the red too bright, too much. You blink, snapping back to yourself, and look back at him. 

“No. Not anymore. I can’t do anything about it. I just have to live with it. It could have been a lot worse, and it wasn’t. I’m lucky.” You let loose a rough sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh. Picking up the knife again you go back to your work. 

“Do you really feel lucky?” His tone wasn’t implying that you shouldn’t, but that maybe you might be glossing over something.

“I’m _alive_. I’m here in my kitchen on an early summer day, slicing fresh strawberries, and I’ve got my entire life ahead of me to do this again and again. That feels lucky enough to me.” The berries are done, so you drizzle in a spoonful of honey and a grind of black pepper. A splash of cognac, a quick stir, and you’re covering it and storing it in the fridge. 

You shut the fridge door, grab your cup and head to the table. “I still hate it. Don’t get me wrong. If we hadn’t been on a Mil base I’d see him dead for what he’s done to me.” You raise your eyes to his and you can feel the hot, unspent tears pricking behind your lids. “Vengeance is against the rules. So I just have to live with it.”

Paz dropped his gaze to the table, one thick finger tracing the grain of the wood. “Why aren’t you angry? With us, I mean?” 

“I don’t have a reason to be. I was doing my job and so were all of you. Why would I need backup on a secure base, during exercises, where every single person should be accounted for? If we’d been in the field, on a real job, we wouldn’t have made that decision in that way.” You’re indignant at the suggestion that this was a matter of fault for the team. Fuck that. This wasn’t their fault. “I need something stronger than this.” You raise your cup at him. 

You walk over to the cabinets above the sink and pull out two tumblers, rinsing and drying them. Grabbing the bottle of scotch you shut the cabinet door and return to the table, pouring a generous few fingers into each glass and placing one in front of Paz. 

You take a swig and the heat spreads through your chest as you swallow, warming you. “So.” You take one more swallow. “How do _you_ feel about it?”

“I want to kill him for what he did.” He gulps half his drink and sets the glass down. “I don’t care about the scars. I’m not mad about them ‘cause they don’t change a fucking thing for me, but I’m scared that it’s changed something for you. I’m mad that he hurt you. I’m mad that you could have died.” He downs the rest of his scotch and pours himself another. “Everyone acts like you got hurt on a job, but this shit isn’t part of the job. This isn’t what you signed up for, getting attacked by a fucking psycho looking to—” He shakes his head like he’s trying to shake loose a ghost. 

It’s your turn to throw back the rest of your glass and pour another. You’re about to give him some hard truths and although you’d not considered needing to have this conversation, it doesn’t surprise you. 

“You know those pack-out kits we get when we’re on a Mil job?” you ask.

He looks at you, puzzled, and nods. “Yeah. Bug spray, toilet paper, ration bars, maps, antibiotics for the local crap, that kind of shit.”

“Yeah, those. Ever looked in my kits? The ones they sign out to me?” Gently, you think to yourself. You have to do this gently because this is never an easy thing, knocking someone over the head with the truth. 

“No, I figured they were all pretty much the same. Why?” He’s obviously not sure where you’re headed with this, but you have his attention. 

“Every kit I get has four things in it that yours wouldn’t: Full-spectrum anti-virals, rape kits, spermicidal douche and the morning-after pill. It’s not something that isn’t already part of going on a job for every woman doing what I do. Sometimes it’s the other side, sometimes it’s your side. Sometimes it’s your own team.” He looks a bit sick and so very sad. You reach across the table and take his hands in yours. “In this case it wasn’t any of the three but it’s not something I was unprepared for. Every woman you work with lives with this, accepts it as part of doing this job."

He stares at your hands and his. When he speaks his voice is quieter than you'd ever heard. "We thought maybe you weren't dealing with it— That maybe you needed help. We never considered that you were _prepared_." He lifts his head to look at you and the pain on his face is evident. "Fuuuuck. You expect— Fuck.” He pulls his hands from yours and is clenching and unclenching them into fists. “How the fuck do you live with this?”

“You gonna be okay?” This is a lot for him to take in, it always is when they get smacked in the face with the reality of being a woman in a man’s job and in a man’s world. 

“I wanna hit something. This is so fucked up. It’s fucked up. They just hand you a rape kit like it’s _normal_.” Whew, this might get messy. 

“It _is_ normal. That’s the most fucked up thing. This is standard and has been for a really long time. It’s better than the alternative, too, which is having no evidence and never being believed.” You take his hands again and give them a squeeze. 

“You never said anything. You never talked about it—”

“Why would I? I don’t talk to you guys about my period or my birth control, either. I know it seems really shocking to you, but this is something every girl on earth learns about by the time they’re in their teens." You smile in what you really hope is a reassuring way. "It is what it is."

You can see him thinking. He always rests the side of his right thumb against his lower lip when he's making a decision as Command.

"Have I ever failed you, as your superior?" You weren't expecting this question, but you also can't imagine what he must be thinking right now.

"No, Sir."

"Have you ever omitted anything from a verbal report to me?"

"No, Sir."

He leans forward on the table. "Have I ever failed you as a friend?" 

"No. Never." 

He sits back in his chair, takes another swig and sighs. "I used to think you were half-crazy, wanting this job so bad. You worked your ass off with us, with the gear, with the mods— like a goddamn machine." His blue eyes are dark, looking inward. "You were fucking relentless that first time out. Hell, you're always relentless, but seeing it for the first time— we were so goddamn excited. You got what it's all about. You got us." He stops for a moment, comes back to himself, and looks at you with that penetrating blue gaze. "We never stopped to wonder if we really had a handle on you. We never considered that things were different for you. I didn’t, at least."

Yeah, it's getting messy. Fuck.

"What if I didn't want you to think of me differently? The thing I loved most about those first months, what confirmed that I had made the right choice, was that I never felt like any of you wanted me to be, or felt like I was less capable, or less able. It wasn't that I was 'one of the guys' or that you ignored the fact that I'm a woman. You guys saw me as equal to each of you. We were facing the same job, the same challenges, and that meant everything to me. Don’t let one fucked up asshole ruin a good thing.” You’re almost pleading with him at the end and you hate yourself for it, but there is no way to tamp down the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What if there’s another one? What if—” 

“What if we drive a truck over a landmine? What if we get trapped on the wrong side of a warzone? What ifs are the risks we take to do our jobs! Don’t make me feel like I’m different now. There’s nothing about me that’s changed. Nothing!” You’re practically yelling, and you pause for a second, trying to get a handle on yourself. 

Paz is up in less than a blink, picking you up out of your chair and carrying you over to the island, sitting you on the counter and stepping forward so your thighs are on either side of his hips. He presses his forehead to yours, his arms around your waist, "I fucking love you so much and I still smell the blood in my dreams and see you all cut up when I close my eyes, sometimes— They made us go back there to question us— They made us walk through that fucking room, smeared with your blood, stinking in the fucking heat— They were gathering evidence— found— a piece of _s-skin_ —" He buries his face in your hair and clings to you like he's drowning. "I can't— Oh, fuck, I can't— he cut a piece out of you— Left it on the fucking f-floor." You have never seen him this upset. He chokes back a sob and it gets you moving, because he's falling apart. It would seem you're not the only one who'd been keeping things bottled up.

You put your hands on his chest and push him gently back a step, slipping off the counter and onto your feet. He's a wreck, unable to let you go, shaking. You take him by the hand and start to lead him down the hall. 

You take him into your bedroom, to your bed. His head is down, he's breathing heavily. He reaches for you, pulling you in, pulling you down to the bed with him. 

He folds you into his arms, surrounding you, like he needs to be between you and the world, as if to hide you from everything that's making him feel so unhinged. You lay together in your bed for a time, just breathing, being close, drawing comfort from knowing you won’t have to be apart again.

"I'm so sorry, baby girl. All of this is so fucked up. I'm sorry it happened and I'm sorry you had to be away for so long." He lightly kisses the top of your head and then rests his cheek there. 

"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry you had to go back there, and I'm sorry you saw what you did." You snuggle as near as you can, relishing the closeness you had craved but couldn't have. "It was cruel."

You can feel the tension starting to drain from him, and he lifts his cheek from your hair, leaning back a bit.

"Hey," his voice is husky and deep. You look up at him and he leans forward to nudge your nose with his. You slide your arm around him and with your hand on the back of his neck you pull him in for a kiss. 

Oh, heaven. This is what you needed, his lips on yours and his hands on you, warm and solid and wanting. Paz hums a soft moan and pulls back, "Does it still hurt?" His eyes are full of concern.

"No, no more pain. Just sensitive," and you let loose a sweet, soft whimper as his hand sweeps up from your waist and with aching slowness cups your breast, his thumb ghosting lightly over your hard nipple.

You arch your back into the contact, it's been so long and you've wanted this so much. He slowly traces your flesh, his lips on yours, his breathing harsh like yours with want and need and more want. Paz gently takes the hem of your sweater and starts to lift it from you. You freeze for just a moment, he hasn’t seen how it looks now, and you’re worried what he’ll think. Capturing your mouth in a kiss he whispers against your lips, “Don’t hide, baby girl, it’s okay.” You press your forehead against his and nod. As he pulls your top over your head his lips are already trailing their way across your shoulders, your neck, planting hungry kisses everywhere and caressing you with his hands everywhere his lips couldn’t be in that moment.

He greedily takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving it with his tongue, moaning at the way you writhe under his touch. Back and forth he goes, like he can’t get enough of the taste of your flesh. In between he’s groaning praise over how pretty you look all laid out just for him, how much he thought about you when you were gone, how he was glad he had you all to himself right now so he can show you how much he missed you. 

He slides down, kissing his way down your belly, kissing gently around the few stitches still left, mindful of the new, raw skin. He gets up on his knees and strips off his shirt, revealing his muscled form. He catches you looking at him with your mouth open, hungrily, and grins at you, flexing for a second and he can’t help but grin even harder as you lick your lips, lost in the sight of him.

God, this man is so massive and so solid, but he is so fucking gentle with you. You can feel a delicious tension in him, and you know he’s holding back. There’s plenty of time for that. Plenty of time for everything you’ve been dreaming of. 

He tugs at the waistband of your pants, his hands, mouth and tongue worshipping every possible inch of skin as he slides them off you. Sinking down between your legs you can hear him murmur, “So pretty. My perfect, sweet little baby girl,” and then you’re gasping as he begins his teasing assault on your aching center. 

He’s taking his time, exploring you thoroughly and with reverence, licking up every drop from your dripping slit and moaning with lust over the way you twitch and pulse under him as he expertly winds that coil in your belly tighter and tighter. His hands are wrapped around your hips, holding you to him, pulling you in, anchoring you. His tongue flicks against your throbbing clit and you’re thankful for his quiet strength keeping you still, you don’t want to miss a second of this devastating attention. 

Nothing exists but him and you and everything he’s doing to you, his hands on you, his loving growls vibrating through your flesh as your hips buck and sway against his grip. 

Each time you think you must be close to the edge his slow, methodical pace urges you just a little higher, pulls you just a little tighter. Your cries are growing loud and turning to pleading moans when there are no more words, just sensation.

Your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your jaw is shaking like you're dying of cold, but every square inch of you is alight, burning out of control, expertly stoked by the man between your legs.

Just when you feel like you can't take another second— Oh, you're just right at the pinnacle and every muscle in your body is tensed to breaking in painful pleasure— Paz plants a soft kiss right on the tip of your throbbing, pulsing bud, then sucks it into his mouth and pulls you over the edge, rendering you unable to make coherent sounds aside from calling his name and crying out in bliss.

He eases you back to reality gradually, kissing and gently nudging you until the trembling stops and the shudders cease. He slips down his jeans and kicks them off and starts kissing his way back up your body, each contact making your already singing nerves set off new fireworks shooting down your spine. His eyes are heavy lidded, pupils blown wide. He settles himself between your legs, the tip of his throbbing length teasing at your soaked entrance. You’re stroking him everywhere you can reach, feeling hard muscle twitching under hot flesh. 

He’s propped himself up on one elbow, the other hand gripping your waist. Between sweet, soft kisses he asks, “Safe?” and you slip your hand down to his and run his thumb over the small implant just inside the curve of your left hip bone with a wide grin and a nod. He sinks into you with a sigh, slowly, letting you adjust to his size. It’s not painful, exactly, you just feel so perfectly, impossibly _full_. When his hips meet yours you’re both shaking. How the fuck can it be this good? How the fuck can just this, him sliding home, make you feel like you’re about to come all over his twitching cock?

He kisses you deeply and rolls his hips forward, going farther than you thought possible. There’s a dull, aching, exquisite pressure that takes your breath from you. He lays his forearms on the pillow, cradling your head, and you both get lost in lips and tongues and the feeling of finally being as close as you’ve wanted to be since you first saw one another. Nothing else matters but this man and everything he demands from you and all he has to give. 

_‘I never knew it could— Oh— I can’t believe this is real—’_

_‘Love you baby girl, always.’_

_‘I love you, Paz— Never letting you go— Can’t let you go.’_

_‘You got me forever, precious girl. I’m yours. All yours. Always.’_

The pace you set together is slow, deliberate, grinding against one another, wanting more, deeper, closer. Every motion against him is heaven. Every brush of his lips, every ghost of breath on skin, each touch of his fingers or tongue on your flesh is so much more than you’ve felt before. You can’t get enough of the taste of his skin, salt, sweet and something undefinable and so deliciously _him_. Your hands can’t roam enough, and each moan and gasp and groan you pull from him as you knead into his solidity is like the sweetest music. It’s all so much. Too much. Not enough. You want more. More of him. All of him. 

Paz reaches down and pulls your legs around his waist, changing the angle, and suddenly he’s hitting a spot inside you that makes stars fill your vision as you clamp down on him like a vise, almost painfully tight, forcing him to push a little harder, a little deeper. “I feel you, baby girl,” he groans, panting against your lips. “Come for me, you sweet little thing—” and then you’re trembling under him as his thumb is rolling against your clit with deep, slow circles, and now you’re writhing against him wildly as a tortured moan escapes him and his hips stutter, every muscle tensing as a low growl rises up from his chest.

The first throb of his orgasm, that feeling of him swelling inside you when you didn’t think you could stretch any more, is what sends you sailing into space. You’re both mindless, hands and lips and hips afire in a frenzy of release and joy. His heat spilling deep within you drives you even higher. You don’t know how you ever thought sex was good before this. 

You come down slowly together, continuing the lazy ebb and flow of your liquid and loving dance against one another as your breathing quiets. He slips from you and you let loose a quiet gasp at the loss of him. Paz gathers you against his chest, pulling the sheet around you both, stroking you and settling you in his arms. You melt against him, feeling the beat of his strong heart against your cheek as you sink into lazy post-coital bliss. 

“Anything hurt?” Paz asked, kissing the top of your head. 

You lean back to flash him a cheeky grin, “Not even close, mister.” His surprised and very pleased grin sends a thrill through you as you curl back up against his warmth. There is going to be so much to explore.

“I meant what I said.” He nuzzles his nose into your hair, his large hands roaming lazily over you. “I'm yours, for good, if you'll have me. You might make me feel like a dumb kid, but what this is isn't kid stuff." 

"You asking me something?" You tweak his nipple, earning a sharp intake of breath and a pinch on your bottom from him that he immediately soothes with one wide palm, his hand almost completely covering your backside. 

“Yeah.” His voice is deep and rough with emotion held in check. “I’m asking but I can’t really ask you and you know why.” He rolls over on his side, belly to belly with you, pulling your upper leg over his hip. The hand on your ass pulls your hips forward and— Oh, sweet christ, he’s hard again. He lifts you slightly and angles your hips forward, the hot, red head of his cock poised just at your folds. He looks at you, his question plain in his eyes. You pout, nod, almost ready beg but he wasn’t teasing you, just seeking permission. 

He adjusts you slightly with his thigh between your legs and angles his hips to sink as deep as he can go in this position and then just holds you there, one strong hand keeping you perfectly still. You can feel your sensitive bundle of nerves start to pulse slowly and deliciously from the constant, gentle pressure of the base of his shaft against you. 

Paz leans in and kisses you deeply and thoroughly, holding you firmly against him. Then he starts talking to you and it's so overwhelming—

"Dreamed about this— just this— holding you, kissing you, being so close to you. Wanted you to crawl into my bag at night in the field, under the sky— let me hold you, be inside you. Just kiss you and love on you. Make you feel good and show you— ah— show you how much I love my sweet baby girl." 

He presses his hips into yours slowly, wanting to be deeper, and it makes your walls grip him as the friction sends a wave of pleasure through you. You both gasp, then he's shushing you, kissing your temple and your cheek, calming you and working to quiet himself. 

"See what you do to me? I— I came so fuckin' hard inside you. Felt like it was tearing me apart in the best way— and still I can't wait to— t-to have you again. To be in you again. Kiss you. Touch— touch you and never stop." His hands are everywhere, lazy and greedy and so, so good. 

"So many fuckin' nights alone and half-fucking crazy from w-wanting you. Wanting to sh-show you what I— what I— ahhhh— Just wanna take care of my baby girl like she deserves, like I should have from the start. Lost so much time— I should have— I shouldn’t have left— didn't wanna scare you— make you go," and then his mouth is no longer talking but devouring yours and it's heady and dark and sweet all at the same time. He breaks the kiss and pushes his forehead against yours, pushing his hips into you as he pulls you towards him, and you can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips. You feel him throb within you, and you clench around him. It’s almost too much.

“It’s not just this,” and he pushes into you again and again. “I want— I want to be there when you fall asleep— Nnnnnnngh— ‘n’ when you wake up." He stills and takes a moment just to breathe with you, to steady himself. His hand, fisted in your hair, grips tighter and tilts your head back. His teeth nip along the flesh of your neck and you shudder. 

"Wanna do— so _much_ — when you're good— when you're— ah!— when you're _bad_ — " The tone of that last statement has the breath out of you and your slick walls are fluttering around him and you're suddenly _so close_ — Then he sinks his teeth into your neck, grasping you in a bruising grip, fucking into you deep and hard. He snaps his hips into you, bottoming out each time, your clit dragging across him and making you convulse, and then you're coming undone around him, flooding him, wet and dripping as your vision turns dark and there's nothing but his teeth at your throat and his hands on you and his incredible cock buried so deep you can't tell where you end and he begins. 

"Ah, fuck, you get so tight when you come. So fuckin' wet. Ahhhh— F-fuck,” he snarls against your skin. Suddenly you’re ripped away from him and then you're facedown on the bed, he's behind you in a heartbeat, your hips are being pulled up, your chest shoved into the mattress, and he's entering you suddenly and slamming into you savagely. It's heavenly and hard and your keening wails only serve to spur him on. 

He's nearly breathless, fucking you like a man possessed and everything he's been holding in is spilling out of his mouth—

"Give you anything you asked for— anything— give you everything I have— wanna give you my name— my babies— my whole— f-fucking— life— Nnnngh— never let you go— Mine— You. Are. Mine.— MINE." He thrusts into you so hard you don't think you'll be able to walk tomorrow. You’re bruised and shaking, tears streaming from your eyes. You know you’re going to want it like this again, going to _need_ it, but oh, it is so hard to take. He spills into you with a roar, brutally pounding his seed into you then collapsing onto your back, staying buried in you and rolling you over onto your side so he's spooning you, his arms wrapped tightly around you and his body curled over you, face buried in your neck. 

He’s panting and shaking, clinging to you. You’re letting out little sobs now and then, but the kind that come after you’ve been overwhelmed by something dark and delicious, unlocking that deep place where pain and pleasure melt together and you’re laid bare. 

“You okay, baby girl?” 

“Mmmm-hmmm. Don’t let go,” you sigh.

“Didn’t plan on it.” He nips lightly at your neck making you giggle. He’s trying to suppress his laughter at your squirming and failing. “I love the way you wiggle”

“Is that why you always wear a cup when we spar?” Now you’re in a giggle fit and it makes him slip out of you. You pout and he just laughs harder at your little mew of disappointment. 

“I’m only flesh and blood. I’m also forty-fucking-six so have mercy on an old man.” He collapses onto the bed behind you with a grunt, giving you a tight squeeze. 

“I don’t know if I can fucking _walk_ and you’re going on about ‘mercy’? That’s bold of you.” You feel giddy from the adrenaline rush and all the other amazing chemicals soaking your poor, fucked-out brain, unable to stifle your giggles. 

“Wasn’t too much, was it?” You can hear the concern in his voice.

You turn over, slowly. Everything from your waist to your knees feels like stretched rubber and deliciously achy. Slipping your arms around his neck you kiss the tip of his nose. "Your baby girl can take whatever her Big Daddy dishes out," you coo. "I'm all sticky, though, and I need another shower. Care to join me?" 

***

It’s still early afternoon when you’re out of the shower. You rip the sheets off the bed, smiling like a fool, and put on a clean set. Throwing the sheets and the towels you used into the wash you return to the kitchen and restore some order. Paz’s sitting at the table, watching with a grin. 

“What?” 

“You’re walking a bit funny.” You can see he’s genuinely trying to stop grinning like a goddamn idiot but he can’t seem to help himself. 

“I’d like to see you take it like that and stand afterwards, tough guy,” you tease back. 

“Fair point.” 

You reach into the cooler and pull out a bottle of wine. It’s probably a sign of something not so great that you’re going to need wine to have the conversation you now have to have, but you needed some liquid courage and more scotch before dinner was probably a worse idea. 

You pour two glasses of the same sauvignon blanc you’re going to use for the veal and walk one over to him, thankful that you thought to buy a few bottles. You sit across from him, gingerly, and take a sip. 

“You get mouthy when you’re balls deep, don’t you?” You’re giving him a way out, knowing that if he takes it it won’t change a goddamn thing. You’re not going to turn away from wherever this is going, but you’re sure as shit going to map out the boundaries before anything else happens. 

“What I got was honest. Not mouthy."

His quiet admission hits you like a stiff jab to the solar plexus. 

Paz heaved a sigh and squared his shoulders, "It's a lot, yeah. No secrets, though, and that's— it's the one that— I'm not sayin' you have to do anything— not expecting you to—" He's practically babbling and you've never seen him so nervous. 

"Stop, Paz. Just relax." Reaching out, you grab a hand and squeeze. "Let's just get it all out in the open and we can talk about it, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." He squeezed back and smiled tentatively. 

"I can't marry you, we both know that. If I do it's all over for me and that's not a choice I would make for anyone, for any reason." Paz nods miserably, knowing this as well as you do. You take a sip of wine and continue, "If this was 40 or 50 years ago I could find work on another team and there'd be no question, but things aren't the same anymore. As long as I’m more valuable as ‘breeding stock’ there’s no incentive for anyone to take me on." You squeeze his hand again, “—and I couldn’t do this without you guys. Individually we’re all good, sure, but it’s us together that makes the difference. It’s what makes us the best.”

"I know. I couldn't ask you— wouldn't ask you— to give up what you worked for. What we all worked for. None of us wants that—” He holds your gaze for a moment and then drops it, “—and it’s the ‘us’ thing, too. It isn’t just you and me— if we were found out, it’d ruin all of us.”

“You most of all. You’d never work again, and even if you managed to avoid prison the fines the union would levy for fraternization would bankrupt you. You’d lose everything. They’d lose everything. We’d all lose each other.” Shaking your head you get up, needing to do something with your hands. 

You get down flour, pull out two eggs, the milk, butter, and a bottle of vanilla sugar. Next is a bowl and measuring cups, then a whisk. You weren’t keeping busy so you didn’t have to think, you were moving about and doing something to quiet that overlayer of your mind, occupy it for a little while so you could think in peace. 

Paz sat at the table, still, sipping his wine and thinking so hard you could almost hear it. His way of considering a problem had much to do with stillness. Slow, deliberate, and methodical was how Paz approached anything that was important. People often mistook that for a man who had a hard time thinking, but nothing could be further from the truth. His mind is the sharpest you’ve known. He can think his way around any corner or problem, and more often than not he’s got half a dozen contingency plans fleshed out, just in case. 

“I talked to my parents a couple weeks ago, not too long after we got back,” Paz’ voice is thoughtful, quiet. “I didn’t tell them everything, no details, but they know how bad you’ve been hurt. They know— Mom knew a long time ago— how I feel about you. Dad always just seems to know what Mom knows, whether she tells him or not. We got a bit in our feelings, talking, and Dad— he gave me some advice that— I need to talk to you about it.”

Pulling the butter you just melted out of the microwave you turn back to him. You’re worried now, not just because of the seriousness of his tone, but because his entire posture is on alert. 

“Whatever it is— I’m willing to listen.” You start measuring out milk, stirring in sugar and a pinch of salt and letting it dissolve while you take half of one of the dozen vanilla beans from the sugar in the bottle and start scraping out the insides.

“They’re the beneficiaries of my policy with the Union, and they’re— if something happens to me — they’re the ones who get the business. Dad thinks— He said that he would never turn down the chance at it, that there would be a good life and nothing would change for them except the work. They’re like sons to him, he loves them just like he loves you, too. He just— He can’t give them the same life they have now, the one they chose and the one that they want. He can’t run jobs, he’s too old and Mom would never agree. He thinks— He wanted me to talk to you about being the one to take over.” 

You pause in your work, “Me? You would want me to—” You feel a bit sick, light headed. 

Paz gets up and comes around to you, drawing you into his arms. “I can’t change how things are. None of us can. I just want to know that you’re all together, that you can keep being together, if—” 

Your head is swimming and you need to sit down. You pull away from him, and though you can see a bit of hurt flash in his eyes he doesn’t make any objection, just following you back to the table and grabbing the bottle to refill your glasses. 

What Paz is asking you to do— It’s not just take over the team. He’s asking you to take _legal control_ of three men you love and respect. To hold them as an asset to a business. To hold their lives and livelihoods in your hands to be disposed of at your whim. The idea is abhorrent to you— but the alternative? The alternative might be so much worse. 

***

The cloning program began in earnest before you were born, just as birth rates had first started to drop. There was a period of unrest and wars were blossoming like dripping red flowers along almost every border. Legal progress was slow, and the question of the rights of clones were tied up in the mire of property and information laws that governed the collection, identification and processing of individuals’ DNA. 

If it hadn’t been for the discovery in the early part of the century that ‘identical’ twins are not complete genetic matches it might have gone very differently for all involved. As it was, this discovery paved the way for politicians and billionaire conglomerate owners to push for treating clones as a product.

_‘They’re not people the way you and I are people. Why, they don’t even have their own genetic fingerprint! They’re just copies of an original, not ensouled by god but made by the men given dominion over this great Earth by our creator!’ - Sen. Graham Davis (R-IL)_

_‘Our current program only accepts unaltered clones, from genetic lines proven to be stable. We have a contract to take on an additional thirteen thousand units by June of next year. We hope to replace all Full-Citizen Military personnel on the front lines by this time next year. Ottawa said they’d bring our men and women home and that’s just what we intend to do.’ Brigadier-General Simon O’Toole, Canadian Armed Forces_

_‘At no time do we introduce additional genes, nor do we remove genes. Each product line and individual unit is tested and should there be deviation the product is deemed faulty and destroyed prior to Carnegie Stage 13. Deviation is not acceptable, we’re making copies, not trying to improve on an already near-perfect design. We’re not playing God.’ - Lllewellyn Jamieson, CEO of GenSync_

_‘If they want to go down this road what’s to stop them from teaching lab monkeys to vote! No, my fellow citizens, this is what those bleeding hearts want from us and we are not going to let them have it! If we grant these sub-humans the same rights we fought hard to enjoy, what's to stop them giving rights to a rat? From arguing that your dog should get a license to drive? It’s a mockery of everything our nation’s heroes fought and died for and I will not stand for it!’ - Rev. Harris Grassley, Head of The North American Evangelical Congregation of Churches_

_'It's messing with nature! What's to stop them from just killing us all? They've got no parents, they probably just grow up in labs with a bunch of those scientists pokin' at 'em. I heard they got chips in their heads to control 'em so they don't go nuts! Well, I don't want 'em livin' next to me. They got made to keep real people from having to fight and now you want me to live next door to these things? I got kids!' - Marshall Tucker, Interview on KWCTV’s “Hello, Kansas! Morning Show”_

_‘Would you allow your daughter to date a clone? Your sister? Can you imagine? They’re not even able to live on their own and have to be made to live together! They’re useless in society aside from protecting us, the citizens, from the horrors of war. It’s all they know and all they’ll ever know. Don’t fall into the trap of believing they can be more than what we made them for. You wouldn’t expect to use your toaster to vacuum your floor, would you? No! It’s preposterous!” - Felix Gauthier - Liberal MP - Ottawa/Vanier, Canada_

***

Nations, countries and even households were strongly divided on the issue. Some governments barely debated the issue before granting rights of varying degrees to clones created in their countries, some outright banned cloning of humans, some banned cloning research altogether, and some enacted laws preventing clones from crossing their borders. 

You've had to turn down more than one job over the logistical nightmare of trying to get the right permission and paperwork in order to be granted exceptions for Din, Jack, and Ezra so they could get visas. 

The issue you’re having right now, though, is how your own nation chose to deal with what they disgustingly termed ‘The Clone Problem’. 

Clones aren’t people. That isn’t to say they’re seen as ‘things’, necessarily. They’re recognized as alive. They’re even legally responsible for their own actions, up to a point, but they are carefully monitored and restricted by the government. You have to pay them, sure, but there’s a scale for clones and one for ‘Citizens’. 

When they say ‘Citizens’ you can hear the words ‘real people’ just underneath.

Clones are ‘allowed’ to have bank accounts, but they’re closely monitored by the IRS, with limits on the amount they’re allowed to have saved at any time and limits on the amount they’re allowed to withdraw in a week. 

They’re not allowed to take out a loan, buy property, or work at any job outside the military or merc squads without governmental permission. Clones can be stopped in the street at any time and must be able to produce their identity card, their batch card, and their current working and home section permits. Without one of those, or if there’s any ‘irregularity’ (which has been something as small as a dog-eared corner on a document or being on the ‘wrong’ side of a street which is marked as a section’s ‘border’), they can be taken into custody. No charges required, and no real crime needs to be committed. 

The only thing that can save a clone in that situation is having a sponsor outside the government. Someone willing to give them a home and a job and who agrees to take responsibility for them. Frankie got lucky like that. He had made some friends among the ‘regs’ in his unit when he was in the Military, and when he got in trouble they saved him just as he had saved them on the front lines. 

The most egregious thing though, in your eyes, is that any clone who reaches the age of 12 is sterilized. No exceptions. It goes further than just a tubal ligation or a simple vasectomy, though. In girls they remove the fallopian tubes entirely, and in boys they completely excise the vas deferens. There’s no going back. 

Like with designer dogs bred at a puppy mill, the breeders don’t want you messing around and making your own strain to sell. They own the genome, they own all known potential beneficial or harmful combinations of genetic expression, and they simply “lease” the physical aspect of the clone for a one-time fee. 

***

Paz had worked with Jack, Din, and Ezra when he was in the service. They had been under his command in the final years of the war they had all been forced to serve in. Another useless, pointless, waste of a war over something that meant nothing to anyone except a handful of people with more money than Crassus, yet lacking the sense God gave a goose. 

When it was over the boys were facing returning home, now considered too old to be sent out to yet another chance to die, and having to take whatever work they were offered by the government. Paz had been stashing money for them in an account under his own name, allowing them to save some of their salaries so they could maybe improve the quality of their lives above the average clone when they were back home. Paz was close to retiring, and when the choice to re-up came around he turned it down and hatched a plan to start a merc team so he could take them with him. 

Paz’ father had started working as a merc when he had gotten out. Paz was still quite young then, but would reminisce that they had a good life and his father provided well not just for his own family, but could afford to be generous with so many people in the community. 

Paz and his father dusted off the old business and got it running again. His father sponsored the clones, and they came to live with the Vizlas as one big, boisterous, and loving family. 

Once you’re in the union you’re in it for life, or until they kick you out, so it was no problem for the elder to sponsor the younger. Paz was born and bred to be a merc, and with his Dad’s guidance and pulling strings behind the scenes he in turn sponsored the boys. 

Paz could give them the closest thing to real freedom that was possible. He couldn’t save everyone, he lacked the power to change anything on a larger scale, but he could save the three of them. He could see to it they could save money, live comfortably, travel almost at will— it was the best he could do and he aimed to keep them safe, out of the government’s hands, and _happy_ for as long as he could, alive or dead. Part of that now is making sure you can all stay together. That no matter what you don’t have to lose all of them if— you elect not to finish that thought. For now. 

Seeing it through his perspective, understanding what it is he has tried to do, and what he wants to do now snaps you out of your initial panic and the practical considerations begin to lay themselves out for you. 

You get out of your chair and go to him. He reaches for you, drawing you into his lap and his warm embrace. 

“I can’t save everyone,” he says quietly. “All I can do is keep my little corner of it as safe as possible. Part of that is knowing that you four won’t be alone. Mom and Dad don’t need my business, they’ve got six other kids and with Dac and Zen building their own places on the farm there’s no need to worry about how they’ll keep up or have a good retirement. You, on the other hand, _do_ need it. If you can’t continue with Jack, Din, and Ez you’ll end up on some shitty second-rate team and you’re too good for that. All of you deserve better than that.” 

“I guess this is another thing we’ll need to talk about together before any decisions are made. I can’t agree— I can’t be the one to decide on my own. It has to be what everyone chooses.” You lay your head on his shoulder. “All of it does.” 

“We have plenty of time to talk. We’ve got one job coming up but it’s flexible, and that’s it for now. We made enough in the last two years we can all coast and keep getting paid for as long as you need, but I thought you’d probably want in on Frank’s job and since it can wait for a good while if we need to that would be perfect for our first time out after—” He stops and hugs you, holding you like he’s afraid you’re going to slip away. 

Clearing his throat he loosens his hold and changes the subject. “So, what’s for dinner?” 

“We’re having veal piccata, fettuccine, some roasted tomatoes and for dessert I’m making french crepes with strawberries.”

“Then the scrutiny of your grocer was worth it. You think he’s guessed?” He’s nuzzling your neck and kissing you in a way that makes you think you had better get out of his lap soon or dinner would be very, very late indeed. 

“Mr. Zetticci? He knew something was up when I placed the order, why do you think he sent you back here with breakfast for tomorrow morning?” 

Getting up to finish the crepe batter so you could set it in the fridge the sound of Paz’ laughter filled your little house. 

TO BE CONTINUED! 


End file.
